When Farídún attained his wish, and reigned
Supreme on earth, he ordered crown and throne
According to the usance of old times
Within the palace of the king of kings;
And on the first of Mihr, a blesséd day,
Set on his head the royal diadem.
In those days, apprehensive of no evil,
All men began to tread the path of God,
Abstaining from contention and observing
A feast inaugurated royally.
Then sages sat rejoicing and each held
A ruby goblet, then the wine was bright,
The new Sháh's face was bright and all the world
Itself was brightened as that month began.
Burned ambergris and saffron; thus he founded
Mihrgán.175 That time of rest and festival
Began with him, and his memorial
Is still the month of Mihr. He banished then
All grief and labour from the minds of men.
He dedicated not a single day
To evil in five centuries of sway,
But yet the world remained not his. Then shun
Ambition and escape from grief, my son!
Note well that this world is no property,
And small contentment wilt thou gain thereby.
Now Farának yet knew not that her child
Had come to be the Sháh, or that Zahhák
Had lost the throne and that his power was ended.
At length news of the happy youth arrived
And of his being crowned. She bathed herself
And prostrate in God's presence offered thanks
Because of this most happy turn of fortune,
And uttered maledictions on Zahhák;
Then to all those who were in poverty
And strove to hide it she afforded aid,
But kept alike their secret and her own.
She spent a week on alms till paupers failed;
Another week she feasted all the nobles,
Bedecked her house as it had been a garden
And there received her guests. She then unlocked
The portal of her secret hoards, brought forth
The various treasures that she had amassed,
And purposed to distribute all her store.
It seemed the time to ope the treasury,
For drachms were trifles since her son was Sháh.
She made no stint of robes and royal jewels,
Arabian steeds with headstalls wrought of gold,
Swords, crowns and belts. Intent upon her son
She placed her wealth on camels and despatched it
With praises on her tongue. The king of earth
Beheld, accepted it, and blessed his mother.
The leaders of the army when apprised
Sped to the monarch of the world and cried:—
“Victorious Sháh and worshipper of God,
To whom be praise! may He give praise to thee.
Thus may thy fortune grow from day to day,
Thus may the fortunes of thy foes be shent,
May heaven make thee still victorious
And mayst thou still be gracious and august.”
The wise came to the Sháh from their retreats
And poured before his throne gold mixed with gems;
The nobles too from all his provinces
At that hocktide assembled at his gate,
Where all invoked God's blessing on the crown,
The throne, the diadem, and signet-ring.
With hands upstretched they prayed right heartily:—
“May such joy last, the Sháh bear fruit for ever.”
As time went on he journeyed round the world,
Examining its sights and mysteries,
Marked each injustice and all wasted lands,
Bound evil hands with bonds of kindliness—
A policy that well beseemeth kings—
Bedecked the world like Paradise, and raised
Instead of grass the cypress and the rose-tree.
He reached Tammísha, passing by Ámul,177 And built a seat there in the famous chace:
Kús is the modern title of the place.
Now fifty years had passed, and by good fortune
He had three noble sons fit for the crown,
Of royal birth, as tall as cypresses,
With cheeks like spring, in all points like their father.
Two were the stainless sons of Shahrináz,
The youngest fair-cheeked Arnawáz had borne;
And though they could outpace an elephant
Their father in his love had named them not.
In time the Sháh perceived them fit to rule
And called Jandal, a noble counsellor,
In everything devoted to his lord,
And said: “Go round the world, select three maidens
Of noble lineage worthy of my sons,
In beauty fit to be affined to me
And named not by their sire for fear of talk,
Three sisters in full blood with fairy faces,
Unstained, of royal race, so much alike
In height and looks that folk can scarce discern
Betwixt them.”
Having heard he undertook
The fair emprise, for he was shrewd and upright,
Of plausible address and full of tact.
He left Írán with certain of his friends
To make inquiries and receive reports.
Then when he heard of any chief with daughters
He sought to learn about them privily,
Yet could not find among the wealthy thanes
One fit to be affined to Farídún.
The monarch of Yaman—with whom he found
The object of his search—three maidens such
As Farídún required. With stately step,
As 'twere a pheasant pacing toward a rose,
He came to Sarv, and having kissed the ground
Explained his coming, praised the king and said:—
“For ever live, exalted sovereign,
Thou ceaseless lustre of the crown and throne!”
The king said: “Be thy praise in every mouth.
What is thy message? What are thy commands?
Art thou ambassador or principal?”
Jandal replied: “May every joy be thine,
And ever far from thee the hand of ill.
I come as some poor heathen to convey
A message from Írán. Great Farídún
Saluteth thee by me. Thou ask'st my business:
I answer: Mighty Farídún applaudeth thee,
And great are they whom he despiseth not.
He said: ‘Say to the monarch of Yaman:—
So long as musk hath scent perfume the throne,
Be thy griefs scattered and thy wealth amassed,
And ever, king of Arabs! mayst thou be
Safeguarded by the stars from all mishap.
What thing is there more sweet than life and children?
Yea, they are sweeter than all else beside,
For none is dearer than a child, that bond
Is as no other bond. If any man
Hath three eyes I possess them in my sons,
But know that they are better still than eyes
For those that look on them give thanks. What said
The sage when he defined a proper league?
‘“I ne'er ally myself but with my betters.”
A sage intent on good will seek his friends
Among his peers, men may be fortunate
But monarchs are not well without a host.
And daring, with three sons who well deserve
To reign—wise, men of knowledge and of prowess,
Without a want or wish unsatisfied.
For these three princes in domestic life
I need three consorts of a royal race,
And I have news (whereon I send in haste)
By means of mine informants that thou hast
Among the ladies that are in thy bower,
O honour-loving king! three maiden daughters
As yet unnamed, whereat my heart rejoiced,
For my three sons of course are nameless still.
'Twere surely well for us to intermingle
These precious gems of two varieties,
Three virtuous maids with three aspiring princes,
Fit joined to fit, no room for scandal there.’
Such is his message; think of thy reply.”
The monarch of Yaman drooped like the jasmine
When out of water, thinking: “If these Moons
Are taken from me, and I see them not
About my couch, my day will turn to night.
No need to answer yet; I will consult
With those who share with me the consequence.”
He first assigned the ambassador a lodging,
Then having closed the audience sat and pondered.
The monarch summoned from the Bedouins
Full many a chieftain well approved in war,
And made the matter manifest to all:—
Three Lights that are resplendent in mine eyes,
And Farídún hath sent an embassage
To spread a goodly snare before my feet;
He would deprive me of these Eyes of mine,
And I would fain consult thereon with you.
The ambassador saith thus: ‘Thus saith the Sháh:—
“I have three princes who adorn my throne
And seek for favour and affinity
With thee by marriage with thy virtuous daughters.”’
If I shall answer, ‘Yes,’ and mean it not,
'Twill be a lie; to lie is not for kings;
If I shall acquiesce in his request
My heart will be on fire, my face all tears;
And if I shall refuse my heart will feel
His vengeance—not a matter for a jest
From one who is the monarch of the world;
And travellers too have heard of what Zahhák
Hath suffered from him. Now advise me well.”
The veteran valiant chiefs thus made reply:—
“We disapprove of veering to each gust.
Be Farídún however great a king
No earringed slaves are we, but say our say
And take the consequence. 'Tis ours to handle
The bridle and the lance; we make the earth
A winefat with our swords, we make the air
A reed-bed with our spears. If thy three children
Are held so dear unlock thy treasury
And shut thy lips; or, if thou wilt use craft,
But fearest Farídún, make such demands
That none shall ever hear the like again.”
The king heard while the chieftains said their say,
But felt no less uncertain of his way.
At length he called the Sháh's ambassador
And spake to him at large in gracious words:—
“I am the servant of thy lord; in all
That he commandeth me will I obey.
Thus say to him: ‘Exalted as thou art,
Still thy three sons are precious unto thee;
And kings esteem their own sons very precious
When they are such as ornament the throne.
I grant what thou hast said, I too have children
And judge by them; yet if the mighty Sháh
Were to require mine eyes of me, or ask
The kingdom of Yaman and desert-tribes,
It were of lesser moment than for me
To never look upon my children more;
Still if the Sháh wish this I may not walk
Save as he biddeth me, and my three children,
If so he will, shall cease to be my kin;
But when shall I behold those princely sons
Who are the lustre of thy crown and throne?
Let those blithe youths come hither and illume
My gloomy soul; to see them will rejoice
My heart, and I will contemplate their shrewdness;
Then I will give to them my three bright Eyes
According to our customs. Furthermore,
When I perceive that they are upright men,
I will join hand in hand in league with them,
And whensoe'er the Sháh would see his sons
They shall return.’”
Jandal, the sweet-voiced speaker
On hearing kissed the throne with reverence,
Then uttering praises hied him to his lord,
The monarch bade his sons attend, he spake
About the mission of Jandal, and said:—
“The monarch of Yaman is king of peoples,
Sarv is a cypress throwing lengthy shadows.
He hath three daughters—pearls as yet unpierced—
Who are his crown, for he hath not a son.
Before all three of them Surúsh would kiss
The ground, I ween, if he might have such brides.
These I demanded of their sire for you
And took such order as becometh us.
Your duty now will be to go to him,
But be discreet in all things small and great.
Be complaisant but guarded therewithal,
Heed what he saith and answer courteously.
If he consulteth you advise him well.
Now hearken to my words and ye shall prosper:
Among the peoples none can equal Sarv,
For he is fluent, ardent, shrewd, and pure.
Allow him not to find you off your guard,
For wise men work with subtilty. The first day
He will assign you chief seats at a feast,
Bring forth three sun-faced maids like garths in spring,
All full of grace, of colour, and perfume,
And seat them on the throne, these Cypresses
That none could tell their order as to age.
Now of these three the youngest will walk first,
The eldest last, the other in the midst.
The king will place the youngest maid beside
The eldest youth, beside the youngest prince
The eldest maid, and pair the mid in age.
Know, for 'tis worth your while, that he will ask:—
‘How range ye in respect of age these damsels?’
Reply: ‘The youngest hath the highest place,
The eldest hath a place below her rank,
The mid in age is placed as she should be,
And thou hast failed in this attempt of thine.’”
The pure and high-born three paid all regard
To what their father said, and left his presence
Fulfilled with wisdom and with artifice.
How should the sons by such a father taught
Be ill advised or indiscreet in aught?
They summoned archimages and made ready;
Their retinue was like the starry sky,
All men of name with sunlike countenances.
Sarv, hearing of their coming, decked his host
A goodly band of kinsfolk and of magnates.
As those three noble princes reached Yaman
Both men and women met them on their way,
Bestrewing saffron mixed with precious jewels
And mingling musk with wine. The horses' manes
Were drenched therewith, and underneath their feet
Gold coins were flung. A palace was prepared
Like Paradise itself; they overlaid
The bricks with gold and silver; all the hangings
Were of brocade of Rúm—a mass of wealth.
There Sarv disposed his guests and by the morn
Had put thom at their ease. He brought his daughters,
As Farídún had said, out of their bowers,
Like shining moons too dazzling for the eye,
And ranged them just as Farídún foretold.
Sarv asked the eldest prince: “Which is the youngest
Of these three Stars, which is the mid in age,
And which the eldest? Thus distinguish them.”
They answered as they had been taught, and so
Sewed up the eyelids of his craft, while he
And all his warriors were lost in wonder.
He saw that his inversion naught availed
And answered, “Yea,” and paired the pairs aright.
The introduction ended in betrothal.
The three princesses, blushing for their father,
Went from the presence of the three young princes
In sweet confusion, blushes on their cheek
And many a word of tenderness to speak.
Then Sarv assembled boon-companions
And passed the day with minstrels, wine, and talk,
But his three sons-in-law—the sons of Farídún—
Drank not except to him. When wine prevailed,
And sleep and rest were needed, Sarv bade set
Some couches by a fountain of rose-water,
And there the three illustrious athelings
Slept in a garden in a bower of roses,
Which scattered blossoms o'er them, but meanwhile
The sorcerer-king had thought of a device:
He left the royal pleasance and prepared
His spells. He brought a frost and mighty blast
To slay the princes; over hill and plain
It froze so sharply that the crows grew numb.
The arch-enchanter Farídún's three sons
Leapt from their couches at the grievous cold;
And by the Grace of God and their own skill,
By kingly magic and their hardihood,
Opposed the spell and kept the frost away.
Now when the sun shone o'er the mountain-tops,
Sarv, anxious to know all, approached in haste
His three exalted sons-in-law in hope
To find their cheeks like lapislazuli,
Congealed with frost, and their emprise defeated,
So that his daughters might remain to him
As his memorial; such was his hope,
But sun and moon were adverse to his wishes,
For he beheld three princes like new moons
Fresh-seated on their royal thrones, and knew
That spells had failed him and his time was lost.
He opened and brought forth his ancient treasures,
Disclosing what had been secreted long,
And brought too and committed to their lords
Three maids sun-cheeked, like garths of Paradise
(No archimage ere planted pines like them),
With crowns and trinkets, ignorant of pain,
Unless it be a pain to plait the hair:
They were three new Moons and three warrior-kings.
He thought with bitterness: “The fault is mine,
Not Farídún's, and may I never hear
Of female issue from this royal stock;
He hath a lucky star who hath not daughters,
But he who hath them hath no star to shine.”
Then to the assembled sages: “Kings may well
Wed Moons. Bear witness all! that I have given
My three Eyes to these men in lawful marriage,
To hold them dear as their own eyes are dear,
And limn them like their own lives on their hearts.”
He uttered this aloud and then he bound
On many vigorous camels' lusty backs
The baggage of the brides. Yaman was bright
With gems. The daughters' litters moved in file
With parasols and riches fit for kings.
Sarv ordered everything and said farewell.
Thus did the youths set out upon their way
To Farídún with hearts alert and gay.
When tidings that the princes had returned
Reached Farídún he went to meet them, longing,
By trial of their characters, to end
His boding fears, so changed him to a dragon—
One, thou wouldst say, no lion could escape—
Which hissed and bellowed with its jaws aflame.
As soon as he perceived his three sons near,
Like sombre mountains in a cloud of dust,
He too threw dust about and made it fly,
While earth re-echoed with his bellowings.
He rushed in fury toward his eldest son,
That prince of many virtues, who exclaimed:—
“No man of sense and wisdom thinketh good
To fight with dragons.”
Then he showed his back
And fled. The father turned toward the next,
His second son, who when he saw the dragon
Strung up his bow and drew it, saying thus:—
“When fight is toward, what matter if the foe
Be roaring lion or brave cavalier?”
But when the youngest son came up he looked
Upon the dragon and cried out: “Avaunt!
Thou art a leopard: ware the lions' path!
If e'er the name of Farídún hath reached
Thine ears contend not with us, for we three
Are sons of his, and every one of us
A wielder of the mace, and warrior.
Unless thou turnest from thy waywardness
I will discrown thee of thy loathly face.”
The glorious Farídún thus heard and saw,
And having proved their mettle disappeared.
With all the pomp and circumstance befitting,
With kettledrums and huge fierce elephants
And bearing in his hand the ox-head mace.
The leaders of the host were at his back,
And all the world was his. The noble princes
Dismounted when they saw the Sháh, they ran
To him and kissed the ground, dazed at the din
Made by the elephants and kettledrums.
The father grasped their hands and welcomed them,
Each to his proper place. On his return
He prayed and offered up much thanks to God—
The Author of his weal and of his woe—
Then summoned his three sons and seating them
Upon the throne of majesty spake thus:—
“That loathly dragon which would scorch the world
Was your own father, who desired to prove
Your mettle, and this known returned with joy.
Now in my wisdom I have chosen fit names
For you. Thou art the eldest, be thou Salm
And have thy wish on earth—thou soughtest safety
And didst not shun to flee the monster's maw.
The rash man who despiseth elephants
Or lions—call him frantic and not brave.
My second son, who from the first showed fight,
Whose courage is more ardent than a flame,
Him name we Túr—a lion brave; not even
A mighty elephant could vanquish him.
To dare is all the virtues in his case,
For no faint heart is master of a throne.
The youngest is a man of sleight and fight,
One that can bide his time and yet be prompt.
He chose the middle course 'twixt dust and flame,
The prudent man's. Brave, young, and sensible
And may his end be all supremacy,
Because at first he was not choleric,
But at the time of stress his courage grew.
I open now my lips with joy to name
These Arab dames with fairy countenances.”
He named the wife of Salm, Árzú;188 the wife
Of Túr, Máh-i-Ázáda Khú; the wife
Of blest Íraj, Sahí, to whom Canopus
Was but a slave in beauty. Afterwards
He brought a catalogue embracing all
The stars within the circling sphere of heaven,
Whose aspects readers of the stars had taken,
Spread it before him and observed the fortunes
Of his illustrious sons. Salm's horoscope
Was Jupiter in Sagittarius.
Next came the horoscope of glorious Túr—
The Sun ascendant in the Lion's House—
A presage brave; but when the Sháh observed
The horoscope of blest Íraj he found
The Moon in Cancer; thus the stars revealed
A destiny of strife and woe. The Sháh
Was sorely troubled, with a deep cold sigh
Perceived that heaven loved not his bright-souled son,
And as he mused thereon he could not be
But filled with thoughts of grave anxiety.
These secrets known, the Sháh divided earth
And made three realms: he joined Rúm with the
West,
Túrán with Chín, Arabia with Írán.
And all the West commanding him to lead
An army thither; so Salm took the throne,
And all the West saluted him as lord.
Next Farídún assigned Túrán to Túr
To rule the Turkmans and the land of Chín,
Providing troops; Túr led his army forth,
Arrived, assumed the seat of sovereignty,
Girt up his loins and opened wide his hands.
The nobles showered upon him precious stones,
And all Túrán hailed him as king. Íraj
Came last, the sire selected all Írán
For him. This with Arabia and the throne
Of majesty and crown of chiefs he gave,
Perceiving that Íraj deserved to rule.
How all the princes, prudent, wise, and shrewd,
All-hailed him as the master of Írán!
As marchlords thus these men of noble birth
Acceded to their thrones in peace and mirth.
Much time rolled on, while fate reserved its secrets,
Till wise Sháh Farídún was worn with age
And strewed with dust the Garden of his Spring.
This is the common lot of all mankind—
Man's strength is weakness when he groweth old.
Then gloom began to gather in the state,
The princes of the realm waxed turbulent.
Immersed in greed Salm changed in heart and mind.
His sire's apportionment, which gave Íraj
The throne of gold. In rancour and with frowns
He hurried off a camel-post, an envoy,
To give this message to the king of Chín:—
“Live ever glad and happy! Know, great king
Of Turkmans and of Chín! that our shrewd hearts
Did ill to acquiesce when we were wronged:
Though we are cypress-tall our souls are base.
Mark with discerning heart this tale of mine;
None such hath reached thee from the days of old:—
Three sons were we who graced our father's throne,
And now the youngest hath the chiefest place!
Since I am first in wisdom and in years
Such fortune doth befit my signet-ring,
While if crown, throne, and diadem should pass
From me, O king! should they not deck thyself?
Shall both of us continue thus aggrieved
By that injustice which our father did
In giving to Íraj Írán, Yaman,
And Araby; the West and Rúm to me;
To thee the wastes of Turkestán and Chín?
The youngest hath Írán; I cannot brook
This settlement; thy father must be mad.”
The message filled Túr's brainless head with wind,
And savage as a lion he replied:—
“Heed well my words and tell them to thy lord:—
‘It was when we were youths, O most just king!
That we were cheated by our father thus.
This is a tree which his own hands have set;
The fruit is blood, the leafage colocynth;
Fix on our course of action and raise troops.’”
Now when the envoy brought this answer back
The face of that veiled secret was laid bare,
This brother came from Chín and that from Rúm,
And, poison being mixed with honey thus,
They met together to deliberate
The matter both in council and in state.
They chose a priest, a shrewd, bright, heedful man
And plausible, and then excluding strangers
Concerted plans. Salm put their case in words,
Washed off all filial reverence from his eyes,
And thus addressed the envoy: “Hence away,
In spite of dust and tempest, swift as wind
To Farídún and heed not aught beside.
On reaching him greet him in both our names
And say: ‘In heaven and earth the fear of God
Should equally prevail, the young may hope
To see old age, but hoar hairs turn not black.
By long abiding in this straitened place
Thou straitenest the long home for thyself.
All-holy God bestowed the world upon thee
From yonder bright sun unto sombre earth,
Not heeding His commands, and to entreat
Thy sons with scath and fraud instead of justice;
For thou hadst three, wise, brave, and youths no longer,
And though no excellence appeared in one
So that the others should bow down to him,
Yet one thou blastedst with a dragon's breath,
Another's head thou raisedst to the clouds;
On one thine eyes reposed with joy, and he
Now hath the crown and is beside thy couch,
While we who are as good as he by birth
Are deemed unworthy of the royal throne.
O upright judge and monarch of the world!
May justice such as this be never blessed!
If then his worthless head shall be discrowned,
Earth rescued from his sway, and thou wilt give him
Some corner of the world where he may sit
Like us in anguish and oblivion—well:
Else will we bring the Turkman cavaliers
And eager warriors of Rúm and Chín—
An army of the wielders of the mace—
In vengeance on Írán and on Íraj.’”
The priest at this harsh message kissed the ground,
Then turned and mounted swift as wind-borne flame.
When he approached the court of Farídún
And marked the cloud-capt buildings from afar,
Which stretched from range to range, while at the gate
Chiefs sat and those of highest rank behind
The curtain, on the one side pards and lions
Chained, on the other fierce war-elephants,
While from that noble band of warriors
The noise that rose was like a lion's roar,
The troops around it are a fairy host!”
The wary watchman went and told the Sháh:—
“A man of noble mien and high estate
Hath come as envoy to the Sháh.”
He bade
His servants raise the curtain and bring in
The envoy, when dismounted, to the court,
Who when he saw the face of Farídún,
Saw how the Sháh engrossed all eyes and hearts,
His stature cypress-like, his face a sun,
His hair like camphor and his rose-red cheeks,
His smiling lips, his modest countenance,
And royal mouth, which uttered gracious words,
Did reverence and wore the ground with kisses.
The Sháh commanded him to rise and sit
Upon the seat of honour due to him,
Then asked him first about the noble pair:—
“Enjoy they health and happiness?” and next
About himself: “Art weary with long travel
O'er hill and plain?”
He answered: “Noble Shah!
May none behold the world without thee! Those
Of whom thou speakest are as thou wouldst wish,
And live but by thy name. Thy slave am I,
Albeit all unworthy and impure.
The message that I bring to thee is harsh
And sent in anger by no fault of mine,
But if my lord commandeth I will tell
The message sent by two imprudent youths.”
The Sháh commanded him to speak and heard
The embassage delivered word by word.
When he had heard, the Sháh's brain seethed with
anger.
“O man of prudence!” thus he made reply,
And have discerned this for myself already.
Tell mine unholy and abandoned sons—
This pair of Áhrimans with dregs of brains:—
‘'Tis well that ye reveal your natures thus
And send a greeting worthy of yourselves;
For if your brains are empty of my teaching,
And ye have no idea what wisdom is,
Not fearing God, ye could not well do other.
My hair was once as black as pitch, my stature
Was cypress-tall, my face was like the moon.
The sky which hath bent down this back of mine
Is yet unfallen and revolveth still:
So time will bend you too, and even that
Which bendeth you itself will not endure.
Now by the highest name of holy God,
By yon bright sun, and by the teeming ground,
By throne, by crown, by Venus and the moon,
I never cast an evil look upon you.
I called the sages into conference,
The archimages and astrologers;
Abundant time was spent therein that so
We might divide the earth with equity;
I had no object but to deal with fairness;
There was no knavery from first to last;
My secret motive was the fear of God,
My longing to fulfil all righteousness;
Since earth was given to me full of men
It was no wish of mine to scatter them;
I said: “On each of my three lucky Eyes
Will I bestow a populous dominion.”
If Áhriman hath now seduced your hearts
From mine advice to dark and crookéd ways,
Consider if the Omnipotent will look
With approbation on this deed of yours.
“The crop that ye have sown that shall ye reap.”
He that instructed me was wont to say:—
“Our other home is that which will endure.”
But your lusts sit where reason should be throned.
Why are ye thus confederate with the Dív?
I fear that in that Dragon's clutch your bodies
And souls will part. Now that I leave the world
It is no time for wrath and bitterness;
Yet thus he saith—the man consumed with years,
Who had three sons, three men of noble birth:—
By hearts released from passions dust is held
As precious as the wealth of king of kings;
But whoso selleth brother for the dust
Men rightly say that he was bastard-born.
The world hath seen and will see men like you
In plenty; but it cottoneth to none.
Now if ye know aught of avail with God
To save you on the Day of Reckoning,
Seek that, make it the provand for the way
And be less careful for the things of earth!’”
The envoy hearing kissed the ground and went;
Thou wouldst have said: “His way-mate is the wind.”
The envoy being gone the Sháh resumed
His seat, then called his noble son Íraj
And told both what had chanced and what might be:—
“Those sons of mine with hearts intent on war
Have set themselves against us from the West.
Their stars dispose them to delight in ill;
Besides their troughs are in two provinces,
Whose fruit is savagery. They will enact
The brother's part while thou shalt wear the crown,
And when thy ruddy face is pale in death
Will shun thy pillow. If thou puttest love
Before the sword thy head will ache with strife,
For from both corners of the world my sons
Make ready, ope the treasury, bind the baggage;
Secure the cup while thou art breaking fast,
For if not they will sup on thee, my son!
Thou needst not earthly helpers, thine allies
Are truth and innocence.”
The good Íraj
Gazed on that loving Sháh, his glorious sire,
And said: “My lord! consider how time passeth
Like wind above us. Why should wise men fret?
It withereth the cheek of cercis-bloom,
It darkeneth the radiant spirit's eyes;
It is at first a gain and then a pain,
And when the pain is done we pass away.
Since then our couch is dust, our pillow brick,
Why plant to-day a tree whose roots will ever
Be drinking blood, whose fruit will be revenge?
The earth hath seen and will see many lords
With scimitar and throne and signet-ring
Like us; but they who wore the crown of old
Made not a habit of revenge. I too,
The king permitting, will not live in ill.
I want not crown and throne. I will approach
My brothers in all haste and unattended,
And say: ‘My lords, dear as my soul and body!
Forbear your anger and abandon strife:
Strife is unlovely in religious men.
Why set your hopes so much upon this world?
How ill it used Jamshíd who passed away
At last, and lost the crown and throne and girdle!
And you and I at length must share his lot.
Live we in joy together and thus safe
What better vengeance can I take than that?”
The Sháh replied: “Thy brethren, my wise son!
Are set on fight while thou wouldst have a feast.
I cannot but recall this saw to mind:—
‘It is no marvel if the moon is bright.’
An answer such as thine becometh well
Thy virtuous self; thou art for brotherhood
And love, but doth a prudent man expose
His priceless life and head to dragon's breath,
Since naught but biting venom cometh thence
By nature? Yet, if such be thy resolve,
Take order for thy going and set forth.
Select a retinue among the troops
To go with thee, and I will write a letter,
With sorrow in my heart, to those two men.
Oh! may thy safe return rejoice my sight,
For when I look on thee my soul is bright.”
The great Sháh wrote a letter to the lord
Of all the West and to the king of Chín,
Wherein he offered first his praise to God
Who is and will be to eternity,
And then went on: “This letter of good counsel
Is for two Suns at their meridian,
Two men of weight and courage, kings of earth,
One monarch of the West, the other of Chín,
From him who hath surveyed the world throughout,
To whom mysterious things have been disclosed,
Who brandisheth the sword and massive mace,
Who addeth lustre unto famous crowns,
Who turneth into night the light of day,
Who openeth the hoards of hope and fear,
In whom all splendour hath displayed itself.
I do not ask of you your diadems,
Your hoarded treasures, thrones, or palaces:
My wish is, after all my weary toils,
That my three sons should dwell in peace and love.
The brother as to whom your hearts are sore
(Though none hath felt a chilling breath from him)
Doth come in haste because of your chagrin,
And of his eagerness to see you both.
He hath resigned his kingship for your sakes—
An action worthy of the noblest men—
And taking to the saddle from the throne
Hath girt his loins that he may do you service.
Now since he is the youngest of the three
He hath a right to love and tenderness.
Hold him in honour, and repent yourselves;
As I have fed his body feed his soul,
And after he hath been with you awhile
Send my beloved one back to me.”
They sealed
The letter with the signet of the Sháh.
Íraj set forth with such attendants only,
Both young and old, as were imperative;
And Salm and Túr, when he was drawing nigh,
Unwitting of their dark design, led forth
The troops to meet him as their custom was.
When they beheld their brother's face of love
They showed to him an altered countenance,
And bent on quarrel gave the peaceful one
A greeting but not such as he desired.
Two hearts were full of vengeance, one was calm:
Thus all three brothers sought their royal tents.
The troops saw, as they looked upon Íraj,
That he was worthy of the throne and crown,
And could not res because the love of him
Possessed their hearts e'en as his face their eyes;
And when, dispersing, mate went off with mate,
Their talk in private was about Íraj:—
May none beside him have the crown of might.”
Salm from apart was spying on the troops,
Their doings made him heavy, and he sought
His royal tent with a revengeful heart,
With liver full of blood, and frowning brows.
He had the enclosure cleared while he and Túr
Sat with their counsellors, and talked at large
Of kingship, crown, and all the provinces;
And in the midst thereof Salm said to Túr:
“Why have the soldiers scattered into groups?
Didst thou not mark how, when we were returning,
The soldiers as they passed along the road
Could not refrain from looking at Íraj?
Our troops when they came back were altered men.
He turned my heart to gloom, thoughts thronged, I saw
That henceforth they would wish no Sháh but him.
Unless thou shalt uproot him thou wilt fall
From thine exalted throne beneath his feet.”
In such a mind they closed the interview
And spent the night devising what to do.
Now when the veil was lifted from the sun,
As morning dawned and slumber passed away,
The hearts of that insensate pair were eager
To do their deed of shame; they proudly strode
Toward their royal brother's tent. Íraj,
Who saw them coming, met them tenderly.
Ran on the why and wherefore of his coming.
Túr said to him: “Since thou art youngest born
Why shouldst thou take the crown of power? Must thou
Possess the throne of princes and Írán
While I am bondslave at the Turkman's gate?
Thine eldest brother chafeth in the West
While thou art crowned and walkest over treasure,
For thus did our aspiring sire apportion
The world in favour of his youngest son.”
Íraj made answer in a holier strain:—
“O mighty chieftain, lover of renown!
Seek peace if thou wouldst have thy heart at ease.
I do not want the royal crown or throne,
The style of monarch or the Íránian host;
I do not want Írán, the West, or Chín,
The kingship or the broad expanse of earth.
When majesty produceth naught but strife
One needs must weep o'er such supremacy.
Although thou ridest on the heaven above,
A brick will be thy pillow in the end.
For my part, though the master of Írán,
I am aweary both of crown and throne,
And yield to you the diadem and signet,
So hate me not; there is no feud between us,
No heart need ache through me. I will not have
The world against your will, and though I dwell
Far from your ken I ever act as younger:
My Faith is naught without humanity.”
Túr heard the words and little heeded them,
But, angry that Íraj should speak and caring
No jot for peace, he rose up with a cry
And then advancing suddenly, and grasping
The massive seat of gold, he smote Íraj,
Who pleaded for his life: “Hast thou no fear
Is this indeed thy purpose? Slay me not,
For in the end my blood will be required.
Be not thou reckoned with the murderers,
And henceforth thou shalt find no trace of me.
Canst thou approve and reconcile these twain—
To be a murderer and live thyself?
Oh! hurt not e'en the poor grain-dragging ant,
For it hath life, and sweet life is a joy.
201 I will choose some retreat and earn my bread;
Why gird thy loins to take a brother's life?
Why set on fire our agéd father's heart?
Wouldst have the world? Thou hast it. Shed not blood:
Provoke not God, the Ruler of the world.”
Túr heard him speak but answered not a word:
His heart was full, his head was vapouring.
He drew a dagger from his boot, he robed
Íraj in blood, and with the keen bright blade
Entrenched the royal breast. The lofty Cypress
Fell, the imperial girdlestead was broken,
The blood ran down that face of cercis-bloom,
And thus the young illustrious monarch died!
Túr with his dagger cut the prince's head
From the elephantine form and all was over.
O world! since thou hadst nursed him tenderly
Yet didst not spare his life at last, I wis
Not who thy secret favourites may be,
But needs must weep for such an act as this.
Thou too, O man distracted and distraught,
Whose heart the world hath seared and caused to bleed!
If, as with these, revenge is in thy thought
Take warning by these persecutors' deed.
They filled the head with musk and ambergris
And sent it to the agéd world-divider
The inheritor of our forefathers' crown—
And give it crown or throne as pleaseth thee.”
The royal and far-shadowing Tree had fallen,
And those two miscreants went their way in spleen,
One unto Rúm, the other unto Chín.
The eyes of Farídún were on the road,
Both host and crown were longing for the prince;
But when the time arrived for his return
How did the tidings reach his father first?
He had prepared the prince a turquoise throne
And added jewels to his crown. The people
Were all in readiness to welcome him
And called for wine and song and minstrelsy.
They brought out drums and stately elephants,
And put up decorations everywhere
Throughout his province. While the Sháh and troops
Were busied thus a cloud of dust appeared,
And from its midst a dromedary ridden
By one in grief who uttered bitter cries;
He bore a golden casket, and therein
The prince's head enwrapped in painted silk.
The good man came with woeful countenance
To Farídún and wailed aloud. They raised
The golden casket's lid (for every one
Believed the words of him who bore it wild)
And taking out the painted silk beheld
Within the severed head of prince Íraj.
Down from his steed fell Farídún, the troops
All rent their clothes, their looks were black, their eyes
Blanched with their horror, for the spectacle
Was other far than that they hoped to see.
Since in this wise the young king came again
The troops that went to meet him thus returned—
Their banners rent, their kettledrums reversed,
The warriors' cheeks like ebony, the tymbals
The prince's Arabs splashed with indigo.
Both Sháh and warriors fared alike on foot,
Their heads all dust; the paladins in anguish
Bewailed that noble man and tore their arms.
Be on thy guard as touching this world's love;
A bow is useless if it be not bent.
The process of the turning sky above
Is, favouring first, to plunder in the event.
'Twill countenance an open enemy
While those who seek its favour are denied.
One goodly counsel I address to thee:
Let no love for it in thy heart abide.
The troops heart-seared, the Sháh with cries “Alas!
Alas!” went toward the garden of Íraj
Where he delighted to hold festival
On any royal anniversary.
The monarch entered bearing his son's head,
Beheld the hauzes203 and the cypresses,
The trees a-bloom, the willows and the quinces,
Saw too and strewed dark dust upon the throne
Imperial but unprinced and lustreless
While up to Saturn rose the soldiers' wail.
He cried “Alas! Alas!” plucked out his hair,
He poured down tears, he tore his face and girt
Around his loins a rope besmirched with blood.
He fired the house wherein Íraj had dwelt,
Destroyed the rose-beds, burnt the cypress-trees
And closed up once for all the eye of joy.
He placed the prince's head upon his breast,
And said with head turned God-ward: “Righteous Judge!
Look down upon this murdered innocent,
Whose severed head is here before me now,
While foreign lions have devoured his body.
That they may never see a bright day more.
So pierce and sear the livers of them both
That even beasts of prey shall pity them.
Oh! grant me, Thou that judgest righteously!
So long a respite from the day of death
That I may see descended from Íraj
One born to fame, and girded to avenge.
Let him behead those two injurious men
As they beheaded him who wronged them not,
And when I have beheld it let me go
Where earth shall take the measure of my height.”
He wept thus many days and bitterly.
His pillow was the dust, his bed the ground
Until the herbage grew about his breast
And both those lustrous eyes of his were dimmed.
He gave no audience, but without surcease
Cried out with bitterness: “O gallant youth!
No wearer of a crown hath ever died
As thou hast died, thou famous warrior!
Thou wast beheaded by vile Áhriman;
The maw of lions was thy winding-sheet.”
Wails, sobs, and cries robbed e'en the beasts of sleep,
While men and women gathered into crowds
In every province, weeping and heart-broken.
How many days they sat in their distress—
A death in life of utter hopelessness!
A while passed and the Sháh went in to view
Íraj's bower, inspected it and marked
The moon-faced beauties who resided there.
He saw a slave of lovely countenance,
And fate decreed that she should bear him fruit.
The Sháh rejoiced because she was with child,
Which gave him hope of vengeance for his son,
But when her time was come she bore a daughter,
And hope deferred hung heavy on the Sháh.
He nursed the babe with joy and tenderness,
And all the folk began to cherish her
As she increased in stature and in charms.
Thou wouldst have said to her the tulip-cheeked:—
“Thou art Íraj himself from head to foot.”
When she was old enough to wed—a Pleiad
In countenance with hair as black as pitch—
Her grandsire chose Pashang to be her spouse:
Pashang was brother's son to Farídún,
Descended from a noble ancestry,
A hero of the seed of Sháh Jamshíd,
Meet for the kingship, diadem, and throne;
And in this way no little time passed on.
Mark what a wonder yon blue vault revealed
When nine months had elapsed! That virtuous dame
Brought forth a son fit for the crown and throne,
Who from his tender mother's womb was brought
Without delay before the mighty Sháh.
The bearer said: “O master of the crown!
Let all thy heart be joy: behold Íraj!”
The world-divider's lips were full of smiles;
Thou wouldst have said: “His own Íraj doth live.”
He clasped the noble child and prayed the Almighty:—
“Oh! would that I might have mine eyes again,
He prayed so earnestly that God vouchsafed
To give his sight back. When with open eyes
He gazed on that new-comer's face he cried:
“Be this day blest and our foes' hearts plucked out!”
He brought bright wine and splendid cups and called
That babe of open visage Minúchihr,206 And said: “From two pure parents there hath come
A proper branch to fruit.”
He reared the babe
So tenderly that not a breath passed o'er him.
The slave that carried him upon her breast
Trod not the ground, for underneath her feet
The purest musk was strewn, and as she walked
A sunshade of brocade was o'er her head.
Years passed, no ill befell him from the stars;
Meanwhile the famous monarch taught the child
All those accomplishments that kings require.
When Farídún had got back sight and heart,
And all the world was talking of the boy,
His grandsire gave to him a golden throne,
A princely turquoise crown, a massive mace
And treasury-key with thrones, torques, casques, and
girdles,
A bright-hued tent-enclosure of brocade
With tents of leopard-skin, such Arab steeds
With golden furniture, such Indian scimitars
With golden sheaths, such store of casques and breastplates,
With buttoned hauberks made in Rúm and bows
From Chach and poplar shafts and shields from Chín
And double-headed javelins of war!
Convinced that Minúchihr was well deserving,
And felt his own heart full of love for him.
He summoned all his paladins and nobles,
Who came intent on vengeance for Íraj,
And offered homage, showering emeralds
Upon his crown. On that great new-made feast
The sheep and wolf walked side by side on earth.
The leaders were Káran, the son of Káwa,
The chief Shírwí, the fierce and lion-like,
Garshásp the noble swordsman, Sám the champion,
The son of Narímán, Kubád, Kishwád,—
He of the golden helm—and many more
Illustrious men,—the safeguards of the world—
And when the work of gathering troops was done
The Sháh's head towered over every one.
When those two miscreants Salm and Túr had heard:—
“The throne of king of kings is bright again,”
They feared their star would sink and sat together
In anxious thought; those wretches' day was darkened
And they resolved to send to ask forgiveness.
They chose a man persuasive, wise, and modest,
To whom they made a passionate appeal,
And fearful of a downfall opened wide
They chose a crown of gold. They housed the elephants.
What wagons did they fill with musk and ambergris,
Brocade, dínárs, and precious furs and silks!
On high-necked elephants the embassage
Went from the West in state toward Írán.
The courtiers added tokens of regard,
And when there was as much as heart could wish
The envoy came prepared to start. The kings
Gave him this embassy to Farídún,
Invoking first of all the name of God:—
“May valiant Farídún for ever live
On whom God hath bestowed the royal Grace,
Be his head flourishing, his person loved,
His genius higher than heaven! I present
A case committed to me by two slaves
At this high portal of the king of kings.
Know that two ill-disposed and lawless men,
Whose eyes are wet with shame before their sire,
Repentant, seared at heart, and much to blame,
Now seek how best they may excuse themselves;
Till now they had no hope of being heard.
What do they say? Their words, wise Sháh! are these:—
‘Let him that did the evil bear the brunt,
And live in pain of heart and self-reproach
As we are doing now, O noble Sháh!
Thus was it written down for us by fate
And by decree of fate the sequel came;
E'en world-consuming lions and fierce dragons
Escape not from the net of destiny.
Again—the foul Dív bade us put aside
All terror of the Worldlord from our hearts,
He took possession of two wise men's brains,
And mightily prevailed against us both;
And now our hope is that perchance the Sháh
May yet forgive us, and impute the wrong
To ignorance in us, next to high heaven
And thirdly to the Dív that in our midst
Is girded runner-like to work us ill.
Now, if the great king's head no longer harboureth
Revenge on us, our good faith shall be evident.
Let him send Minúchihr and, as an escort,
A mighty army to his suppliants,
With this intent that we may stand as slaves
Before him dutifully; thus our tears
May wash the tree that springeth of revenge,
Our offering shall be our tears and groans,
And when he groweth up our hoards and thrones.’”
Charged with these words, and doubting what would
follow,
The envoy reached the portal of the Sháh
With treasures of all kinds on elephants.
When Farídún was told he gave command
To spread brocade of Rúm upon the throne
Of king of kings and have the royal crown
Prepared, then took his seat as he had been
An upright cypress 'neath a full-orbed moon
In fitting state with crown and torque and earrings.
Blest Minúchihr sat by him crowned, the nobles
Stood ranked in double file in robes of gold,
With golden mace and girdle, making earth
Another sun. On one side pards and lions
Were chained, on the other huge war-elephants.
Then from the palace issued bold Shápúr
To introduce Salm's envoy, who on seeing
The palace-gate alighted and ran forward.
And saw the diadem and lofty throne,
He bent until his visage touched the ground.
The noble Sháh, the monarch of the world,
Bade him be seated on a golden seat.
He did obeisance to the Sháh and said:—
“O glory of the crown and throne and signet!
Thy throne's steps make the earth a rosary,
And thy fair fortune brighteneth the age.
We serve the dust that is beneath thy feet
And only live since thou wilt have it so.”
These praises caused the Sháh's face to relax,
Whereat the envoy spake of clemency
With great craft, and the Sháh gave ear to him
While he repeated those two murderers' words,
Endeavouring to keep the truth concealed
And make excuses for their wickedness,
Inviting Minúchihr to visit them
When they would wait upon him as his slaves,
Give him the crown and throne of majesty
And purchase back from him Íraj's blood
With wealth, brocade, dínárs, and jewelry.
The monarch heard the speech and answered it;
Like key to lock so did the answer fit.
The Sháh, when he had heard the message sent
By his two wicked sons, said to the envoy:—
“Canst thou conceal the sun, and clearer still
Are shown the secrets of those miscreants' hearts?
I have heard all thy words; now mark mine answer.
Unrighteous, ill-affectioned, and impure,
That their vain words avail them not, and I
Have also something that I fain would say:—
‘If thus your love for Minúchihr hath grown
Where is the body of his famous sire—
Íraj? The maw of wild beasts hideth it,
His head is in a narrow casket laid,
And they who made a riddance of Íraj
Now seek to shed the blood of Minúchihr!
Ye shall not see his face but with an army
And with a casque of steel upon his head,
With mace and Káwian standard while the earth
Is darkened by his horses' trampling hoofs;
With leaders like Káran, who loveth fight,
Shápúr—the valiant backbone of the host—
And by his side Shídúsh the warrior,
Shírwí the lion-strong as pioneer,
King Talímán, and Sarv, king of Yaman,
To head the forces and direct the war;
And we will drench with blood, both leaf and fruit,
The tree sprung out of vengeance for Íraj.
No one hath sought revenge for him as yet
Because I saw the back of fortune bent:
It seemed not good to me to lay my hands
In battle on mine own two sons; but now
From that same Tree which enemies have felled
A fruitful Offshoot hath sprung up; for like
An angry lion Minúchihr shall come,
With loins girt ready to avenge his sire,
Together with the leaders of the troops—
Such chiefs as Sám the son of Narímán,
Garshásp, son of Jamshíd—and hosts to reach
From hill to hill, and trample down the world.’
Next for their pleading that ‘the Sháh must wash
His heart from vengeance, and forgive our crime,
Because the sky so turned o'er us that wisdom
Was troubled, and affection's seat obscured:’
I have heard all the unavailing plea,
And now that patience is fordone I answer:—
‘No man that soweth seed of violence
Shall see good days or jocund Paradise.
What need ye fear about a brother's blood?
The wise esteem the self-excuser guilty.
Revere ye not the glorious Lord of all?
Your hearts are black, your tongues speak glozing words;
He will requite you for it in both worlds.
And thirdly, since ye sent an ivory throne
And torquoise crown on mighty elephants,
With purses full of divers-coloured gems,
Am I to balk revenge, to wash away
The blood and sell the prince's head for gold?
Nay! perish first throne, diadem, and Grace!
Worse than a dragon's offspring is the man
Who taketh money for a priceless head.
Shall any say: “The sire in his old age
Is putting price upon his son's dear life?”
As for these gifts of yours—I need them not.
But wherefore utter I so many words?
Your hoary-headed sire will not ungird
The loins of his revenge while life endureth.’
Thy message have I heard. Hear my reply,
Retain it every whit and get thee gone.”
The messenger grew pale at this dread speech
And at the bearing of prince Minúchihr,
Leapt up in fear and mounted instantly.
The noble, youthful envoy shrewdly saw:—
“Revolving heaven in no long time will furrow
The visages of Túr and Salm.”
He sped
Like rushing wind, his head full of the message,
His heart of bodings. When he saw the West,
With camp-enclosures stretched upon the plain,
He made his way toward Salm's pavilion
Where sat both kings in conclave. Word was passed:—
“The envoy hath returned.”
The chamberlain
Approached and took him to the royal presence.
They had a special seat prepared for him
And asked for tidings of the new-made Sháh,
Of crown and throne and of Sháh Farídún,
His host, his warriors, and his dominions,
And of the aspect of the turning sky:—
“What favour showeth it to Minúchihr?
Who are the nobles? Who is minister?
What treasures have they? Who hath charge
thereof?”
The envoy said: “The portal of the Sháh
Beholdeth that which bright spring seeth not,
For 'tis the jocund Spring of Paradise
Where ground is ambergris and bricks are gold.
The roof above his palace is a heaven,
And Paradise is in his smiling face.
When I approached his lofty residence
Its roof was telling secrets to the stars.
On this hand there were lions, and on that
Were elephants. The world itself was placed
Beneath his throne. Upon his elephants
Were seats of gold, and round the lions' necks
Were jewelled torques. The tymbal-players stood
Before the elephants while trumpets blared.
Thou wouldst have said: ‘The precincts seethe, earth
shouteth
To heaven.’ I came before that well-loved Sháh,
And saw a lofty turquoise throne where sat
He wore a sparkling ruby coronet.
His hair was white as camphor, and his cheeks
Were like the petals of the rose. His heart
Is full of clemency, his speech is kind;
He is the hope and fear of all the world.
Thou wouldst have said: ‘Jamshíd doth live again.’
A Shoot from that tall Cypress—Minúchihr,
Like Tahmúras, the Binder of the Dív,
Sat on the Sháh's right hand: thou wouldst have said:—
‘He is the heart and soul of that great Sháh.’
There Káwa stood, the skilled among the smiths,
With one before him well beseen in war—
His son, Káran by name, the warrior,
The watchful chief, the conqueror of hosts;
The minister—Sarv, monarch of Yaman,
The treasurer—victorious Garshásp,
Were there. The sum within the treasuries
Appeareth not. None ever saw such greatness.
Around the palace were two lines of troops
With golden maces and with golden helms.
Before them there were leaders like Káran,
The son of Káwa, that experienced captain,
And warriors—ravening Lions like Shírwí,
And bold Shápúr, the elephantine chief.
The air becometh ebon with the dust.
If these men come to fight us hill and plain
Will be confounded; these men have revenge
At heart; their faces frown; they purpose war.”
The envoy having further told the message
Of Farídún, those tyrants' hearts grew sore,
Their faces blue as lapislazuli.
They sat consulting, but had naught determined
When Túr spake thus: “Farewell to peace and joy!
We must not let this hardy lion's whelp
Grow bold and sharp of fang. Will such a youth
Lack prowess, being taught by Farídún?
When grandson communeth with grandsire thus
Some devilry is sure to come of it.
Prepare we then for war and that with speed.”
They hurried out their cavalry and mustered
Troops from the West and Chín, whence hubbub rose
And all flocked to the kings—a multitude
Whose star of fortune was no longer young.
Two hosts empanoplied marched on Irán
With mighty elephants, much precious store,
And those two murderers intent on war.
The Sháh was told, “A host hath crossed Jíhún,”
And bade prince Minúchihr to pass the frontier
“A youth predestined to be fortunate
May happen to ensnare a mountain-sheep
While hunters are before and pards behind;
But having patience, prudence, sense, and wits,
He will take savage lions in his toils,
And now my foes in these my closing days
I would chastise, and wield a sword of fire.”
“Great Sháh!” said Minúchihr, “may fate keep ill
For any foe that cometh to attack thee;
May he betray himself both soul and body.
Lo! I will don a coat of Rúman mail
To leave no part exposed, and then in quest
Of vengeance on the battlefield will send
The dust of yon host sunward. None of them
Hold I a man: dare they contend with me?”
He ordered that Káran, who loved the fray,
Should cross the frontier to the desert, taking
The camp-enclosure and the imperial standard.
Then as troop followed troop the hills and plains
Heaved like the sea, the day was dark with dust,
And thou hadst said: “The sun is azure-dim.”
A clamour rose enough to deafen ears
Though keen, the neighing of the Arab steeds
Rose high above the tymbals' din. Two lines
Of mighty elephants stretched from the camp
For two miles, sixty carried seats of gold
Inlaid with gems, three hundred bore the baggage,
That hid all but their eyes.
They left Tammísha
And bore the camp-enclosure to the waste.
Káran the avenger was the general,
The host three hundred thousand cavaliers.
The men of name marched mailed, with massive maces,
All bold as angry lions and all girded
For vengeance for Íraj; their steel-blue swords
Were in their hands and Káwa's standard led them.
Then Minúchihr with him who loved the fray,217
Káran, went from the forest of Nárwan,
Reviewed and ranged his host on those broad plains.
He gave the army's left wing to Garshásp;
Upon the right was brave Sám with Kubád,
Who set the battle in array. The prince
With Sarv was in the centre, whence he shone
Moon-like, or as the sun o'er some high hill.
Led by Káran, with champions such as Sám,
The Íránian army fought. Kubád was scout,
The heroes of the house of Talímán
Were ambuscaders, and the host was decked
In bridal trim with lion-warriors
And din of drums.
Men bore the news in haste
To Túr and Salm: “The Íránians armed for fight
Are marching toward the desert from the forest,
Their livers' blood afoam upon their lips.”
That pair of murderers with a huge array
Set forth intent on vengeance and drew up
Their host upon the plain: they made the Aláns
And sea their base. Kubád the scout advanced,
And Túr on hearing that came forth like wind,
And said to him: “Return to Minúchihr
And say to him: ‘Thou bastard just made Sháh!
Hast thou a right to signet, crown, and throne?’”217a “Yea, I will take thy message,” said Kubád,
“In thine own words and style, but thou wilt quake
To think hereafter of this monstrous speech.
'Twill not be strange if even savage beasts
Bewail you day and night, for from Nárwan
To Chín are warlike, vengeful cavaliers.
A glimpse of our bright swords and Káwa's standard
Will make your hearts and brains burst in dismay:
Ye will not know a valley from a hill.”
Túr heard and turned away in silent dudgeon,
While blest Kubád went back to Minúchihr
And told the insulting words. The young prince laughed.
“None but a fool,” he said, “would talk like this.
But praise to Him—the Lord of both the worlds—
Who knoweth all things secret or revealed!
He knoweth that my grandsire was Íraj,
As blessed Farídún assureth me,
But when I show my person in the fight
My birth and prowess will approve themselves.
Now by the Grace of Him who ruleth sun
And moon I will not leave Túr power to wink,
But show his trunkless head to all the host;
I will avenge my blesséd sire upon him
And turn his kingdom upside down.”
He ceased
And issued orders to prepare a feast.
When the bright world grew dark and scouts dispersed
About the plain, Káran the warrior
And Sarv the counsellor, who led the host,
Observed: “This will be Áhriman's own fight,
A day of martial deeds and vengeance-seeking.”218
A proclamation issued to the troops:—
“O men of name and Lions of the Sháh!
Gird up your loins, be vigilant, and may
The Almighty guard you. Whosoe'er is slain
Will go to Paradise washed clean from sin;
While they who shed the blood of warriors
Of Rúm and Chín, and take their lands, shall have
Eternal fame, the Grace of archimages;
The Sháh will give them thrones and diadems,
Their chieftain gold and God prosperity.
Now when the dawn is breaking and the sun
Half risen gird upon your valiant loins
Your maces and your daggers of Kábul,
Take up your stations and preserve your ranks.”
The captains of the host, the valiant chiefs,
Drew up before the lion-prince and said:—
“We are but slaves and live to serve the Sháh,
Will do his will and with our swords make earth
Run like Jíhún.”
They went back to their tents,
All purposing revenge.
Now when day broke,
Upheaving night's mid gloom, the prince assumed
His station at the centre of the host
With coat of armour, sword, and Rúman helm.
The soldiers shouted lifting to the clouds
Their spears. He duly ordered all the troops,
The left, the right, the centre, and the wings.
With heads all anger and with brows all frowns
They rolled up earth in marching. It resembled
A ship upon the waves and thou hadst said:—
“It sinketh fast!” From his huge elephant
He dropped a ball, earth heaved like azure sea,
The drummers marched before the elephants
With roar and din like lions in their rage,
While from the sounds of pipe and clarion
Thou wouldst have said: “It is a festival.”
The troops moved mountain-like and both hosts shouted.
Anon the plain ran blood: thou wouldst have said
That tulips sprang up. Mighty elephants
Stood as on coral columns in the gore.
The love of all, obtained the victory;
Now honey and now gall make up man's lot.
The hearts of Túr and Salm were deeply moved
By grief. They listened for a night-surprise,
But no one came e'en when night turned to day,
And they themselves were anxious for delay.
Noon passed. With vengeful hearts the brothers met
For consultation; mid their foolish schemes
They said: “Let us attempt a night-attack
And fill the desert and the plain with blood.”
That night those miscreants drew their army out,
Bent on a camisade. The Íránian scouts
Gat news thereof, and sped to Minúchihr
To tell him so that he might post his troops.
He left Káran the host and led himself
An ambuscade with thirty thousand warriors,
All men of name. Túr came at night and brought
One hundred thousand men prepared for fight,
But found the foe arrayed with banners flying
And saw that battle was his sole resource.
A shout rose from the centres of the hosts,
The horsemen made the air a cloud of dust
And steel swords flashed like lightning: thou hadst said:—
“They make air blaze, earth gleam like diamonds.”
The clashing of the steel went through the brain,
While flame and blast rose cloudward. Minúchihr
Sprang from his ambush and surrounded Túr,
From his own troops. Prince Minúchihr pursued,
Hot for revenge, and cried: “Stay, miscreant,
Who lovest fight so well and cuttest off
The heads of innocents! Know'st not that all
Desire revenge on thee?”
He hurled a dart
Against Túr's back, whose sword fell from his grasp.
Then Minúchihr like wind unseated him,
Cast him to earth, slew him, cut off his head,
And left the body for the beasts of prey;
Then went back to his camp to contemplate
That symbol of a fall from high estate.
Then Minúchihr wrote to Sháh Farídún
About the war—its fortunes good and ill—
And first he spake of Him who made the world—
The Lord of goodness, purity, and justice:—
“Praise to the Worldlord who hath succoured us!
Men find no other helper in their straits.
And changeth not throughout eternity.
Next, praises be to noble Farídún—
The lord of crown and mace, possessed of justice,
The Faith and Grace, crown and imperial throne.
His fortune is the source of righteousness,
His throne of beauty and of excellence.
By virtue of thy Grace I reached Túrán,
Arrayed the host and fought by day and night
Thrice fiercely in two days. I heard that Túr
Designed a night-attack and wanting power
Relied on craft; so I arranged an ambush
And left him nothing but the wind to clutch.
He fled, I followed, and o'ertaking him
Pierced through his armour with a javelin,
And took him from his saddle like the wind.
I flung him as I would a serpent down
And from his worthless body smote the head,
Which lo! I send my grandsire, and forthwith
Will set about a stratagem for Salm.
Since Túr had placed within a golden casket
His royal brother's head in foul contempt,
And had no ruth or reverence for him, God,
Who made the world, delivered Túr to me,
And will lay waste his realm and dwelling-place.”
The letter done he sent a cameleer,
Who sped like wind with cheeks suffused with shame
And hot tears in his eyes for Farídún;
How should he like to be the carrier
Of Túr's head to the monarch of Írán?
Though dead sons were perverse their fathers mourn them;
But as the crime was great and unprovoked,
And as the avenger was both young and brave,
The messenger approached with confidence
And laid the head of Túr before the Sháh,
Who prayed to God, the righteous Judge, to pour
On Minúchihr his blessings evermore.
News of the fight and of that Moon's eclipse
Reached Salm, who purposed making a retreat
Upon a lofty castle in his rear;
Such are the ups and downs which fortune hath!
Now Minúchihr had thought of this and said:—
“If Salm declineth battle his retreat
And therefore we must occupy the road,
For if he hath the fortress of the sea
No one will wrench him from his foothold there.
It is a place whose head is in the clouds,
'Twas built by cunning from the ocean's depths,
Is furnished well with treasures manifold
And overshadowed by the eagle's wing.
I must make haste to execute my plan
And ply both rein and stirrup.”
This he told
Káran, who, as he knew, would keep the secret.
That chief replied: “O gracious sovereign!
If to the least of all his warriors
The Sháh vouchsafeth to entrust a host,
I will secure Salm's only gate for combat
Or for retreat. For this exploit I need
Túr's royal standard and his signet-ring,
Then will I make a shift to seize the hold
And go to-night; but keep the matter close.”
He chose six thousand veterans of name,
Who when the sky grew ebon placed the drums
Upon the elephants, and full of fight
Set forward toward the sea. Káran resigned
The army to Shírwí and said: “I go
To show to him the signet-ring of Túr.
When I am in the castle I will raise
The standard, and will make the blue swords gleam.
Approach ye then the hold, and when I shout
Make onset and lay on.”
He left the host
Hard by the hold while he himself advanced,
And when he reached the castle told his tale,
Showed to the castellan Túr's signet-ring
And said: “I come from Túr, who bade me not
Stop to draw breath, and said: ‘Go to the castellan
And say to him: “Be watchful day and night,
Share both in weal and woe, guard well the castle,
Be vigilant, and if Sháh Minúchihr
Shall send his troops and standard 'gainst the hold
Assist each other, and put forth your strength;
And may ye overthrow the enemy.”’”
The castellan heard this and recognised
The signet-ring; they oped the castle-gates:
He saw the seeming, but he saw no more.
Mark here the rustic poet's moralising:—
“No one but He alone who placed the heart
Within can see its secrets. Be our part
To labour at the duty of the day;
So be the good and evil what they may,
Mine only duty is to say my say.”
The castellan re-entered with Káran,
Who loved the fight, the guileless with the guileful.
This chieftain, though prepared for stratagems,
Sealed friendship with a stranger, and in folly
Gave both his head and castle to the winds.
He thus addressed his son—a warrior-pard:—
“My son, who art so skilful and adroit!
But ponder well and mark from first to last
The honied words of one that is a stranger,
Especially in times of war and strife.
Search well and live in dread of ambuscades,
Look deeply whatsoe'er the matter be,
And how a chieftain shrewd of intellect,
By leaving some small detail unexplored,
And not considering the foemen's craft,
May render up his fortress to the winds.”
At break of day Káran, who loved the fight,
Set up a standard like the moon full-orbed;
He shouted and made signals to Shírwí
And his exalted chiefs. Shírwí perceiving
The royal standard made toward the hold,
Seized on the gate, threw in his troops and crowned
The chiefs with blood. Here was Káran and there
Shírwí, the sword above, the sea below.
By noon the castle's form and castellan's
Had vanished. Thou couldst see a cloud of smoke,
But ship and castle were invisible.
Fire blazed, wind blew, rose horsemen's shouts and cries
For help. At sunset hold and plain were level,
And twice six thousand of the foe were slain.
A pitchy reek rose o'er a pitchy shore
And all the surface of the waste ran gore.
Káran returned and told the prince, who said:—
“May horse and mace and saddle ne'er lack thee.
When thou hadst gone another host approached,
Led by a young and battle-loving chief,
A grandson of Zahhák, and called, I hear,
Kákwí—an infidel—with haughty horsemen
And men of name a hundred thousand strong,
And slaughtered many of our lion-warriors.
Salm now is bent on fight since this ally
Hath come to help him from Gang-i-Dizhhukht.
226
They tell me that he is a warlike dív,
In battle unappalled and strong of hand.
I have not reached him in the combat yet,
Nor ta'en his measure with the warriors' mace,
But when he cometh next to fight with us
I will essay him and will try his weight.”
Káran replied: “O prince! who can confront thee
In battle? If he were a pard his skin
Would burst upon him at the thought of fight.
Who is Kákwí? What is Kákwí? Thy foes
Will never play the man. I will devise
A shrewd device in this emergency
That none like vile Kákwí may ever come
Henceforth to fight us from Gang-i-Dizhhukht.”
Thou art exhausted with thy late exploit,
Thy marching and revenge; it is my turn
To do the fighting: breathe awhile, great chief!”
The din of trump and pipe arose without,
The tymbals sounded and the horsemen's dust
Made air pitch-black and earth like ebony.
Thou wouldst have said: “These Diamonds have life,
These maces and these javelins have tongues!”
Shouts rose around and arrows fledged the air
Like vulture's wings, blood grouted hand to hilt
And spurted from the murk; thou wouldst have said:—
“The earth will rise in waves and whelm the sky.”
Kákwí the chieftain raised the battle-shout
And came forth like a dív, while Minúchihr
Advanced with Indian sword in hand. Both raised
A cry that rent the hills and frayed the hosts.
Thou wouldst have said: “These chiefs are elephants,
Both terrible, both girt, both bent on vengeance.”
Kákwí thrust at the girdle of the prince,
Whose Rúman helmet shook: his mail was rent
Down to the belt so that his waist appeared.
And clove it by the neck, and thus they fought
Till noon like pards and puddled earth with blood.
As day declined the prince, sufficed with fight,
Reached out and gripping firmly with his legs
Caught with all ease the girdle of Kákwí,
Dragged from his steed his elephantine form,
Flung him upon the burning sand and gashed
His chest and bosom with the scimitar.
Thus went that Arab to the winds a prey;
His mother bare him for so ill a day!
Kákwí being dead, the master of the West,
Whose stay was broken, ceased to seek revenge
And sought to gain his stronghold in his flight,
But when he reached the sea saw not a spar
Of any vessel there. The Íránian host,
Though clogged by killed and wounded on the plain.
Pursued apace, while Minúchihr, all wrath
And vengeance, cast his fleet white charger's mail
And pressed on till within the foemen's dust
And hard upon the king of Rúm he cried:—
“Thou who art guilty of the blackest crime,
Hast thou obtained it? Whither wilt thou flee?
I bring thee now, O king! a crown and throne:
The royal Tree hath come to bearing fruit.
Fly not the throne of greatness! Farídún
Hath got a new throne ready for thine use.
The tree which thou hast planted beareth now,
And thy breast shall receive the produce of it;
If thorns, the tree was planted by thyself;
If painted silk, the weaving was thine own.”
As thus he spake he urged his steed along
And in another moment overtook
And clave the king asunder from the neck,
Then bade the head be set upon a spear,
While all admired his might and warlike arm.
Salm's troops were scattered like a flock by snow
And wandered aimlessly in companies
Amid the wastes, the caverns, and the hills.
They bade one wary, wise, and eloquent
To go to Minúchihr forthwith and say
On their behalf: “We are thy subjects all
And only tread the earth to do thy will.
Among us there are some possessed of herds,
And some of tilth and palaces. To fight
Was not our interest but our king's command;
We came as soldiers, not to seek revenge.
We are the Sháh's slaves now and bow our heads
To do his will and pleasure. If he willeth
We all are guiltless and we all come in,
So let him do as seemeth good to him,
For he is master of our guiltless lives.”
Thus spake the sage, the chief in wonder answered:—
“I cast my passions and exalt my name.
What is not God's is Áhriman's and evil;
Be all such banished from my sight, and may
The dívs be punished for their sins. Ye all
Are either foes or friends and mine allies,
But innocent and guilty both are spared
Since God hath given us victory. 'Tis the day
Of justice, wrong hath ceased, the leaders' heads
Are safe from falling now. Seek brotherhood
And use it for a charm, put off from you
The implements of war, be wise and pure
In Faith, secure from ill, and banish vengeance.
Now in your dwellings wheresoe'er they be,
In Chín, Túrán, or in the land of Rúm,
Let all the virtues form your pedestal
And be your homes those of enlightened minds.”
The great chiefs praised that noble, upright prince,
And proclamation issued from his tent:—
“Ye paladins whose counsel prospereth!
Shed no more needless blood, the tyrants' fortunes
Are overthrown.”
Then all the troops of Chín
Fell prostrate, brought their arms and gear of war
To Minúchihr, and as they passed him piled
A mountain of horse-armour, helms, and breastplates,
Of maces and of Indian scimitars,
While Minúchihr the chieftain graciously
Entreated each one as his rank might be.
The hero called a courier, gave to him
The head of Salm, the monarch of the West,
And wrote to tell his grandsire of the fight
And strategy, first giving God the praise
And then the Sháh: “Praise to the conquering World-lord
From whom are virtue, power, and Grace! His blessing
Is now on Farídún, that wise, brave Sháh,
Who hath released us from the bonds of ill,
And hath the wisdom and the Grace of God.
We are avenged upon the cavaliers
Of Chín. We lay in ambush for their lives.
Strong in the Sháh with our avenging scimitars
We smote the heads off those unrighteous men,
We purged the surface of the earth with steel.
Lo! I am coming like the wind behind
My letter, and will tell thee all that passed.”
He sent Shírwí, the aspiring veteran,
Back to the hold, and said: “Explore the booty,
Act as thou seest best, and take the Sháh
The spoil upon high-crested elephants.”
He bade the drummers and the pipers fare
Forth from the royal tent, and from that hold
In Chín marched inland back to Farídún.
As he approached Tammísha on his way
His grandsire longed to look at him. The blast
Of clarions ascended from the gate,
The host began to march out. Farídún,
That man of wakeful fortune, decked the backs
Of all the elephants with turquoise thrones,
And golden litters with brocade and gems.
A world of banners, yellow, red, and blue,
Waved overhead. The host marched toward Sarí,
Like black clouds from the waters of Gílán,
With golden bridles and with golden girdles,
With silvern stirrups and with golden bucklers,
With treasures, elephants, and precious stores,
In readiness to welcome Minúchihr.
Now as that prince approached the royal host
His grandsire went afoot to welcome him,
As did the men of Gíl like lions loose,
With torques of gold and helmets black as musk.
Each like a savage lion, troops went first,
The elephants and lions in the midst,
Behind the elephants more valiant troops.
Whenas the flag of Farídún appeared
The host of Minúchihr deployed in line.
That youthful prince, that sapling just producing
Its earliest fruits, dismounted from his steed.
He kissed the ground and blessed the monarch's throne,
His diadem and crown and signet-ring,
But Farídún commanded him to mount,
Kissed him and grasped his hand.
Then Farídún
Returning home sent word to Sám, the son
Of Narímán: “Come presently,” for Sám
Had come from Hindústán to help to fight
Against the sorcerers, and brought withal
A mighty store of gold and precious things
Above whate'er the Sháh required of him—
Such myriads of jewels and dínárs
That no accountant could have reckoned them.
Sám, when he reached the monarch of the world,
Saluted both the old Sháh and the young.
The famous monarch seated Sám beside him,
The great king seated the great paladin,
And said: “I put my grandsire in thy charge,
For I must now depart. Help him in all
And make him show a prowess like thine own.”
The great Sháh lightly laid the young man's hand
In that world-paladin's, looked up and said:—
“Almighty God! Just Judge who sayest sooth!
The Help of the oppressed in their distress.’
Right hast Thou done me, Thou hast holpen me
And given me both crown and signet-ring.
God! Thou hast granted me my whole desire;
Now take me to the other world—a better
Than this—because I would not that my soul
Should tarry longer in this narrow sphere.”
Shírwí the chieftain with the spoils approached
The palace of the Sháh, who lavished all
The booty on the troops.
He gave directions,
Two days ere Mihr, for Minúchihr to sit
Helmed on the throne of gold, with his own hands
Crowned the young prince, and gave his last commands.
This done, the great king's day and fortune changed,
The leafage withered on the royal tree;
He quitted crown and throne and with the heads
Of those three kings beside him lived in tears
And in austerities: his plaint was this:—
“My days are changed and darkened by these three,
Who were my heart's delight and grief withal,
Thus slain before me miserably, in hatred,
And as my foes would wish. Such ills befell them
Through their perversity and evil deeds;
They disobeyed me and the world frowned on them.”
His heart was full, his face all tears till death.
Though Farídún is gone there is his name
Still left through all the years that have passed by;
One who found profit in adversity.
Then Minúchihr put off the royal crown,
He girt a blood-stained girdle round his loins,
And reared a charnel as the Sháhs were wont
Of ruddy gold and lapislazuli.
They placed a throne of ivory within
And hung a crown above it, visited
The dead to say farewell, as was the use
And ritual, then shut the charnel-door:
In such ill case that dear one left the world!
One sennight Minúchihr gave up to grief,
His eyes were full of tears, his cheeks were pale,
And for a sennight city and bázár
Were mourning with their mourning sovereign.
O world which art all wind and levity!
The man of wisdom hath no joy of thee.
Thou fosterest each one with thy caress,
No matter if his life be more or less,
But when thou willest to revoke the trust
What reckest thou of coral or of dust?
Man! when the world hath snapped in twain the cord
Of this world for thee, be thou liege or lord,
Thy griefs and pleasures as a dream appear:
Vex not thy heart then to continue here.
Blest is the man who, whether king or thrall,
Bequeatheth good as his memorial!
After describing the accession of Minúchihr, the poet proceeds to tell the story of Zál, the son of Sám, how, being born with white hair, he was in consequence exposed by his father on Mount Alburz, how he was found and brought up by the Símurgh, how in after years he and his father became reconciled, and how he rose to greatness. The poet also tells of the loves of Zál and Rúdába, the daughter of Mihráb, the idolatrous king of Kábul, the wrath of Minúchihr thereat, his ultimate consent to the union, and the birth of Rustam, with an account of whose first adventures, and of the death of Minúchihr, the reign concludes.
The story, which occupies the reign of Minúchihr, in whose name, which means “offspring of Manu,”234 we can still trace a connection between Indian and Iránian mythology, between the Vedas and the Zandavasta, is perhaps the most charming in the whole poem; and here first the stream of epic, hitherto confined and cramped, breaks out into broad waters, and carries us to the heroic race who play such an important part throughout the first—the mythic —period of the poem. We have already seen how the titles bestowed on the great hero Keresáspa became separate personalities in later times,234a and in this reign we have one of his most famous feats recorded as an exploit of Sám, the son of Narímán—the slaying of the dragon of the Kashaf. The legend appears to have become localised in the neighbourhood of the poet's own birthplace, Tús, by which the Kashaf flows, and the dragon may be typical of the periodical floods the prevention of which is said to have been an object which the poet had at heart.235 The feature of Sám's mace is reproduced from the earlier legend, where Keresáspa is described as “bludgeon-bearing.”235a
The gigantic mythical bird, the Símurgh, the Roc of the Arabian Nights, which plays such an important part in the legend of Zál and of his son Rustam, is described in the Bundahish as “the griffon of three natures.”235b It appears to have been conceived of as a sort of gigantic bat.235c The Bundahish, in its account of birds, says: “There are two of them which have milk in the teat and suckle their young, the griffon bird, and the bat which flies in the night; as they say that the bat is created of three races (sardak), the race (áyina) of the dog, the bird, and the musk animal; for it flies like a bird, has many teeth like a dog, and is dwelling in holes like a musk-rat.”235d The Símurgh was the first bird created,235e and its nest was on the tree of wild vegetable life which grew in the wide ocean near to the tree of immortality. Upon the former tree collect all the seeds which plants have produced during the year, and the office of the Símurgh was to shake the tree and scatter the seeds, which were then collected by another mythical bird, called Chamrosh, which had its nest on the summit of Mount Alburz and protected Írán from invasion. This bird mingled the seeds with the rains, which the good genius Tishtar (Sirius) had rescued from the demons, with a view of pouring them on the earth; the purport of the legend was to account for the rapid vegetation in hot climates.235f The poet appears to have combined some of the characteristics of several mythical birds—the Chamrosh, the Karshipta, and also of the Varengana or raven in his account of the Símurgh. The magical or medicinal efficacy of the raven's feathers is recognised in the Zandavasta, where we read: “Zarathustra asked Ahura Mazda … ‘If I have a curse thrown upon me, a spell told upon me by many men who hate me, what is the remedy for it?’ Ahura Mazda answered: ‘Take thou a feather of that bird … the Varengana, O Spitama Zarathustra! With that feather thou shalt rub thy own body, with that feather thou shalt curse back thy enemies. If a man holds a bone of that strong bird, or a feather of that strong bird, no one can smite or turn to flight that fortunate man. The feather of that bird of birds brings him help; it brings unto him the homage of men, it maintains him in his glory.”236
With regard to the account of the employment of anæsthetics on the occasion of the Cæsarean birth of Rustam, we find another instance of their employment by Urmuzd himself in the account of the Creation in the Bundahish. When Ahriman broke into the creation of Urmuzd and attacked the Primeval Ox, we read that Urmuzd had previously ground up healing fruits in water for it, that its death might be the less painful.236a Similarly we read in Genesis that the Lord caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam.
The earliest reference to Rustam in literature appears to be an indirect one in the Kur'án.236b He is also mentioned in the work that passes under the name of Moses of Chorene: “Age vero, si placet, vilia vanaque de eo mendacia declarabo, qualia Persae de Restomo Sazico memorant, quem CXX elephantis viribus fuisse superiorem tradunt. De hujus pariter robore & forti-tudinem ea celebrant, quae â similitudine veri longissimê absunt, quem sanê neque Samsoni, neque Herculi, nec Sazico fabulae istae conferunt. Canunt et enim quadrata eum saxa manibus prehendere potuisse, & ad arbitrium suum, magna aeqûe ac parva, divellere, unguibûsque abradere, &, velut in tabulâ, aquilarum figuras, aliaque ejus generis effingere atque unguibus inscribere: Qui cum apud magni maris Pontici litus hostiles quasdam naves offendisset, impetum in eas fecit, quas in altum octo aut decem circiter stadia provectas, ubi consequi non potuit, globosis eas lapidibus incessit, quorum conjectu aquae, ut aiunt, tantoperê diffindebantur, ut naves non paucae demersae fuerint, & fluctuum vis, aquarum fissura altiûs surgentium reliquas naves multos mille passus propulerit. Prôh ingens fabula, aut potiùs, fabularum fabula.”236c
Malcolm identifies the castle on Mount Sipand taken by Rustam with a famous stronghold, known on account of its appearance as “the White Castle,” situated in the province of Párs, about seventy-six miles north-west of Shíráz, “on a high hill that is almost perpendicular on every side. It is of oblong form, and encloses a level space at the top of the mountain, which is covered with delightful verdure, and watered by numerous springs. The ascent is nearly three miles; for the last five or six hundred yards the summit is so difficult of approach that the slightest opposition, if well directed, must render it impregnable … In 1810 it was … in possession of the tribe of Mumasenni, one of the aboriginal tribes of Persia. Their means of defence were probably still the same as in the days of Roostum: a line of large stones ranged in regular order around the edges of the precipice. Each stone is wedged in by a smaller: when that is removed, the large stone, or rather rock, is hurled down, and sweeps everything before it.”237
They mourned for Farídún for seven days,
Upon the eighth Sháh Minúchihr came forth
And set the royal cap upon his head;
He countercharmed the spell of sorcerers
And reigned twice sixty years. The paladins
Throughout the world called praises down on him.
When he assumed the crown he gave the world
Glad news of justice, Faith, humanity,
Of goodness, knowledge, purity, and said:—
“I sit enthroned upon the circling sphere,
Dispensing love and justice, wrath and strife.
Earth is my thrall, heaven mine ally, the heads
Of kings my quarry. Mine are Faith and Grace,
Mine to bestow good fortune and to harm.
I wreak revenge by night; the raging fire
Upon Barzín237a
am I, and lord of scimitar
And golden boot. I set up Káwa's standard
And light the clouds, I draw my sword and give
No quarter on the battlefield. My hands
Become a bounteous ocean when I feast,
But when I mount my steed my breath is fire.
I cut the practice of the wicked short
And make the earth a red brocade of blood,
And light the kingdom from mine ivory throne;
Yet in despite of all I am a slave—
A servant of the Maker of the world.
Smite we our faces with our hands and weep,
Let all our conversation be of God,
Of whom we hold the crown, the throne, and host:
We give Him praise and He is our defence.
We tread the path of Farídún the blest—
Our grandsire: he was old, but we are young.
Whoever in the seven climes of earth
Departeth from the Way, abandoneth
The Faith, inflicteth hurt on mendicants,
Oppresseth any one of his own kin,
Uplifteth in the pride of wealth his head,
Or causeth sorrow to the suffering,
All such are infidels in my regard
And worse than evil-doing Áhriman.
All evil-doers that hold not the Faith
Are banned by God and us: hereafter we
Will put our hand upon the scimitar,
And in our vengeance desolate their realm.”
All men of name throughout the earth invoked
Their blessings on him with one voice, and said:—
“Thy glorious grandsire, O benignant Sháh!
Taught thee the conduct of the throne and crown.
Be ever thine the throne of mighty men,
The crown and archimages' Grace. Our hearts
Obey thy word, our souls are pledged to thee.”
And said to Minúchihr: “O judge most just!
I from the Sháhs have gotten eyes to see,
And see thee just: my part is to applaud.
Sháh of Írán art thou by long descent—
The chosen of the Lions and the brave.
May God watch o'er thy body and thy soul,
Thy heart be glad, thy fortune slumber not.
Thou mindest me of days of yore and art
My place of shelter at the royal throne.
Thou art a lion steadfast in the fight,
Thou art a sun resplendent in the feast.
Be time and earth the dust upon thy feet,
Thy place upon the turquoise throne. Since thou
Hast cleansed earth with thine Indian scimitar
Sit at thine ease and take thy pleasure here.
Henceforward all the warfare is for us;
Thine are the throne, the wine-cup, and the banquet.
The fathers of my race were paladins—
The shelter of the Sháhs and of the great—
And from Garshásp to famous Narímán
Were chiefs and swordsmen. I will compass earth
And put a scantling of thy foes in bonds.
Thy grandsire made me paladin, thy love
And counsel made me wise.”
The Sháh returned
His praise, bestowing many a kingly gift,
And then Sám with the paladins withdrew
And so departed on his homeward way,
While all the world conformed to righteous sway.
Now will I fashion from the legend-store
A tale of wonder from the days of yore;
Give me thine ear, my son! and learn from me
How Sám became the sport of destiny.
In need of solace. One among his wives—
A Beauty rosy-cheeked with musky hair—
Gave him the hope of offspring, for that Moon
Was sun-faced, ripe, and was with child by him,
And grievously she suffered with her burden.
When many days had passed the babe was born—
A Beauty like the world-illuming sun,
And like it too in loveliness of face;
But all his hair was white, and since 'twas so
They kept the thing from Sám for one whole week:
The women of that famous paladin
Wept in the presence of the little child,
But not one dared to tell the hero Sám
That his fair spouse had borne a hoary babe.
Anon the infant's nurse, with lion's courage,
Came unabashed before the paladin,
As one who brought good news, blessed him and said:—
“May Sám the hero's days be fortunate,
And may his foemen's hearts be rooted out!
God hath bestowed on thee what thou didst ask—
The very gift whereon thy soul was set:
Behind thy curtain, seeker after glory!
Thy moon-faced spouse hath borne a stainless son,
A paladin, a child of lion-heart,
A boy of spirit, fashioned of pure silver,
And with two cheeks that favour Paradise.
Thou wilt not see a faulty part in him
Except this blemish—that his hair is white.
So heaven willed, O seeker after glory!
Content thee and be not morose and thankless.”
The horseman Sám descended from his throne;
He went behind the curtain to “Young Spring,”
And saw a goodly boy with hoary head.
None hath beheld or heard of such; his hair
Sám at that sight despaired. Great was his fear
Of coming shame; he left the path of wisdom
For courses of his own, looked up to heaven
And prayed to be forgiven his offence.
“O Thou,” he said, “above all harm and loss!
Good ever cometh of Thine ordinance.
If I have sinned by any grievous sin,
Or yielded to the faith of Áhriman,
Oh! may the Almighty hearken to my prayer
And in His secret counsels pardon me.
My troubled mind is writhing for sheer shame,
The hot blood is a-tingle in my veins
For this brat like a brat of Áhriman,
With dark eyes and with hair like jessamine.
When any nobles come to speak with me,
And set their eyes on this ill-omened cub,
What shall I say that this dív's bantling is—
A fay or leopard with its spots? The great
Will laugh at me in public and in private
Till shame shall make me curse and quit Írán.”
He spake in wrath with frowns and railed at fortune,
Then bade some take the child and carry it
Beyond those fields and fells and far away.
There was a certain mountain named Alburz,
Nigh to the sun and far removed from men,
Where the Símurgh had nested, for the place
Was uninhabited. They left the child
Upon the mountain and returned. Time passed,
While for no fault the infant paladin,
Unable to distinguish black from white,
Was outcast from his father's love; but He,
Who fostereth all, took up the castaway.
“If I should give thee my heart's blood,” she said,
“I should not look for thanks. I live in thee;
My heart would break if thou shouldst break with me.”
Throughout the expanse of earth the beasts we find
More tender to their young than are mankind.
The babe remained where thrown, exposed both day
And night. He sucked his finger-ends and wailed.
Now when the young Símurghs grew ravenous
The mother, soaring o'er her nest, beheld
Earth like a heaving sea, and wailing there
A child rock-cradled with the dust for nurse,
His body bare, his lips unwet with milk,
The dark drear soil about him and above
The noonday sun. Would that he had had pards
For dam and sire, he had at least been shaded!
The Lord gave loving instincts to that fowl,
Which thought not to devour the child herself,
But swooped down from the clouds and with her talons
Took up the infant from the heated rocks,
Then bare him quickly off to Mount Alburz,
Where were her nest and young, for them to tear
Regardless of his cries; but God, who giveth
All good, had ruth on him, his lot was other;
That infant, who was weeping tears of blood,
They lavished love on him in wondrous wise,
Astonied at his goodly face. The bird
Chose for him all the tenderest prey, and made
Her little guest suck blood instead of milk.
Long was he lost to sight; but when he came
To man's estate a caravan passed by
And saw one like a noble cypress-tree,
His breast a silver mount, his waist a reed,
And rumour of him spread, for neither good
Nor bad remaineth hid; so Sám in fine
Heard of that high-starred youth of Grace divine.
One night when Sám was sleeping, seared in heart
And overwhelmed by that which time had wrought,
He dreamed that from the land of Ind there came
A noble rider on an Arab steed
Apace, and gave him glad news of his son—
That lofty bough of his of fruitful promise.
When he awoke he called the archimages,
Conversed with them at large, told them his dream
And of the gossip of the caravans:
“What say ye,” said he, “touching this affair?
Is it a fair presumption to your minds
That this child liveth, or hath winter's cold
Or summer's heat destroyed him?”
Old and young
There present answered thus the paladin:—
“Ingrates to God experience good in naught;
For pards and lions on the sands and rocks,
And fish and crocodiles in waterways,
All cherish their own little ones and give
God thanks; but thou didst break the covenant
With Him who giveth good, and cast away
An innocent because of his white hair,
Which shameth not a body pure and bright.
Say not, ‘The child is dead,’ but gird thyself
And ever persevere in quest of him,
Since one whom God regardeth will not die
Of heat or cold. And now in penitence
Incline to Him—the Author of all good,
The Guide.”
So next day and in sore distress
Sám went to Mount Alburz, and when night came
Slept ill at ease. He saw a standard raised
Above the Indian mountains, and a youth
Of beauteous visage with a mighty host,
Upon his left an archmage, on his right
A sage of noble aspect. Of these twain
One came to Sám and said in chilling tones:—
“Audacious man and impious in thine aims!
Is there no fear of God before thine eyes?
If to thy mind a bird is nurse enough
What booteth it to be a paladin?
If white hair be a blemish in a man
Thy beard and head have grown like willow-leaves!
By thine injustice frustrated the gift?
Abhor thy Maker then, for day by day
Thy body changeth hue. Thou didst despise
Thy son, who is the fosterling of God—
The kindliest Nurse for him. As for thyself,
Love is not in thee.”
Sám roared out in sleep
As when a mighty lion is ensnared;
He feared that dream portended chastisement
From destiny. Aroused, he called to him
The men of lore and bade the chiefs to horse.
He came in haste toward the mountain-peak
To seek his castaway, and there beheld
A height whose top was midst the Pleiades:
Thou wouldst have said: “It will obstruct the
stars.”
Upon the top was built a lofty nest,
Where Saturn's influence could not injure it;
Tall posts of ebony and sandal-wood
Laced with lign-aloe stayed it underneath.
Sám gazed in wonder on that stony peak,
On that majestic bird and weird abode.
The building reached to Spica, and was raised
Without hand-labour, with no stones and earth.
A youth stood there—the counterpart of Sám,
Who watched him as he walked about the nest,
Then laid his cheeks upon the ground, and gave
Thanks to the Maker, in that He had made
Such bird upon the mountain, and had raised
Its stony summit to the Pleiades,
Acknowledging: “He is a righteous Judge,
All powerful and higher than the high.”
He sought to find a path or any track
Whereby the wild beasts scaled the precipice;
And walked around the mountain giving thanks,
But saw no way to climb it. He exclaimed:—
“O Thou above all place, o'er sun and moon
Before Thee, pouring out my soul in awe.
If this youth springeth from my loins indeed,
Not from the seed of evil Áhriman,
Assist thy servant to ascend this height
And show me mercy, sinful as I am.”
Thus prayed he to the Just: his prayer was granted.
When the Símurgh looked from the height and saw
Sám with his company, she knew that they
Came not for love of her but for the youth,
To whom she said: “Thou who hast seen the unease
Of nide and nest! I am the only nurse
That fostered thee, the source of all thy weal,
And gave to thee the name Dastán-i-Zand,245 Because thy sire dealt with thee treacherously;
Command thy valiant guide to call thee so
When thou returnest home. Thy sire is Sám,
The hero, paladin of paladins,
And most exalted of the mighty men.
He hath come hither searching for his son,
And with him high estate hath come to thee.
Now must I take thee up and bear thee back
Unscathed to him.”
He listened while she spake,
His eyes were filled with tears, his heart was sad.
Though he had seen no man, still he had learned
Of her to speak in accents like her own,
With much of wisdom and of ancient lore;
Thus had he language, wisdom, and right rede,
And looked to God for succour. Now observe
His answer to the fowl: “Hast thou in truth
Become aweary of my company?
Thy nest is unto me a shining throne,
Thy pinions are my glorious diadem,
For thou hast turned my hardship into ease.”
The bird replied: “If once thou dost behold
The crown, the throne, and doings of the court,
This nest will seem to thee of small account.
Make but one trial of the ways of fate.
I do not send thee hence in enmity;
I pass thee to a kingship. I would fain
Have kept thee here with me, but for thyself
To go is better. Bear this plume of mine
About with thee and so abide beneath
The shadow of my Grace. Henceforth if men
Shall hurt or, right or wrong, exclaim against thee,
Then burn the feather and behold my might,
For I have cherished thee beneath my plumes
And brought thee up among my little ones.
Now like a black cloud will I bear thee off
And carry thee to yonder spot uninjured.
Let not thy heart forget to love thy nurse,
For mine is breaking through my love of thee.”
She thus consoled his heart, then took him up,
Bore him with stately motion to the clouds,
And swooping down conveyed him to his sire.
The youth had hair descending to his breast,
An elephantine form and cheeks like spring.
His father seeing him groaned bitterly,
Then quickly did obeisance to the bird,
And offered thanks and praises o'er and o'er.
“O queen of birds,” he said, “the righteous Judge
Gave thee thy power and might and excellence,
That thou shouldst be the helper of the helpless,
And in thy goodness justest of the just.
May'st thou for ever make thy foes to grieve
And always be as mighty as thou art.”
With that the bird, watched by the eyes of Sám
And all his company, soared mountainward.
He gazing on the youth from head to foot
Adjudged him fit for crown and throne; he had
The heart of paladins, a hand to seek
The scimitar, white lashes but with eyes
Pitch-coloured, coral lips and blood-red cheeks.
Except his hair there was no fault at all;
None could discern in him another flaw.
Sám's heart became like Paradise; he blessed
His stainless child. “Have no hard thoughts,” he said,
“Forget the past and warm thy heart with love
Toward me—the meanest of the slaves of God.
Henceforth since I have thee I swear by Him
I will not fail in gentleness to thee,
But will fulfil thy wishes good and bad:
Henceforth thy will shall be my rule of right.”
He clothed the young man like a paladin
And turned to leave the mountain: having reached
The plain he chose a charger for his son,
As well as royal robes for him to wear,
And gave to him the name of Zál-i-Zar,248 Though the Símurgh called him at first Dastán.
Then all the troops with gladness in their hearts
Sought Sám. The drummers led on elephants,
And dust rose like a mount of indigo.
There was a sound of drums and clarions,
Of golden gongs and Indian bells, while all
The horsemen shouted. Thus they journeyed home
Until all joyfully they passed within
The city, greater by one paladin.
“Sám hath returned in triumph from Alburz!”
Such tidings from Zábul came to the Sháh,
Who joyed exceedingly: the Maker's name
Both well beloved, one hight Naudar, the other
Zarasp, both brave and wise, and both endowed
With Grace and Faith, both like Ázargashasp
Upon the plain. He said: “Let famed Naudar
Go with despatch to Sám and look upon
His child that hath been nurtured in a nest,
Congratulate him on the Sháh's behalf
Upon the joy that hath revealed itself;
And bid him come in person to the Sháh
To tell his tale, and afterwards depart
Home like a loyal liege.”
Now when Naudar
Reached Sám the son of Narímán he saw
The new young paladin. Then Sám the horseman
Alighted, and Naudar and he embraced.
Sám asked about the Sháh and chiefs, Naudar
Delivered all their greetings. Sám, on hearing
The message of the great king, kissed the ground,
And hasted as commanded to the court.
When he drew near the Sháh went out to meet him.
Sám saw the flag of Minúchihr, dismounted
And went afoot. He kissed the ground and said:—
“For ever live glad and of ardent soul!”
But Minúchihr bade that true-hearted man,
That worshipper of God, to mount again.
They went toward the palace; Minúchihr
Sat down with great rejoicing on the throne,
And placed the royal crown upon his head.
On this side sat Káran, on that side Sám,
Both glad and well content. The chamberlain
Approached with stately step and brought in Zál,
The Sháh marked with amaze that lofty stature
And goodly face, “the abode,” as thou wouldst say,
“Of life and love.” He said to Sám: “Safeguard him
For my sake, never give him needless pain,
But find thy happiness in him alone,
For he hath royal Grace and lion's claws,
The wise man's heart, the prudence of the old.
Teach him our customs both in war and feast;
Bird, nest, and height he knoweth; can he know
What honour and court-usages demand?”
Then Sám told all the story to the Sháh
About the lofty mountain and Símurgh,
And how the precious one was lodged and nurtured
Within the nest till he could feed himself;
Told wherefore he had cast the child away,
And said thus: “Heaven revolved above my head
For many years; the world at length was filled
With strange reports of Zál and the Símurgh.
Commanded by the Lord of all the world
I went to Mount Alburz—no easy place—
And saw a mountain-peak among the clouds;
Thou wouldst have said: ‘It is a dome of flint
Upon a sea!’ The nest like some tall palace
Was there, well fenced from harm on every side,
With Zál and with the young of the Símurgh
Within it: thou hadst said:—‘They are one brood.’
His breath exhaled the very scent of love,
And every thought of him rejoiced my heart.
A yearning for my lost son came to me;
My heart burned so that life was well-nigh gone.
I prayed in secret to the holy Judge:—
‘Resource of men, without a want Thyself!
Thy witness doth extend to every place,
And heaven turneth only at Thy word.
A slave am I, whose heart is full of sin
Before the Master of the sun and moon;
My hope is in Thy mercy—that alone:
I have no other ground of confidence.
This slave of Thine—the fostered of the fowl—
Brought up in misery and wretchedness,
Who hath but skins to wear instead of silk
And sucketh raw flesh, not his mother's breast—
Restore to me! Disclose for me a way
To him and cut this present trouble short.
Sear not my soul for my defect in love;
Oh! pardon me this once and cheer my heart.’
When I had spoken thus, the Lord vouchsafed
To grant my prayer immediately: the bird
Flew up, and soaring to the clouds wheeled round
Above the head of me the infidel;
Then from the mountain like a cloud in spring
Came with the form of Zál clasped to her breast,
And odours that fulfilled the world with musk.
Mine eyes were tearless, and my lips were dry;
I feared the bird and yearned upon my son,
So that my wits departed clean away.
She brought him to me like the kindliest nurse,
Whereat my tongue began to utter praise,
And strange! I did obeisance to the fowl!
She left my son and went, 'twas God's decree,
And I have brought him, lord of earth! to thee,
And told what heretofore was mystery.”
The Sháh then ordered the astrologers,
The archmages and the other men of lore,
To ascertain the horoscope of Zál
And so forecast the prince's destiny:—
“What will he be on reaching man's estate?
Ye must inform me as to this at large.”
They found the horoscope of Zál and said:—
“This youth will be a famous paladin,
A noble, shrewd, and valiant cavalier.”
The Sháh rejoiced and Sám's heart ceased from care.
The ruler of the earth prepared a gift
Of such a sort that he was blessed by all,
Of Arab steeds with golden furniture,
Of Indian scimitars with golden sheaths,
Of furs and gold, of jewels and brocade,
Of carpets also an abundant store,
Of Rúman slaveboys in brocade of Rúm
With jewelled patterns on a golden ground,
Of bowls of emerald and turquoise cups,
Of others of pure silver and red gold
Containing saffron, musk, and camphor: these
The servants brought with suits of mail and casques,
Horse-armour, lances, maces, bows and arrows,
A throne of turquoise and a crown of gold,
A ruby signet-ring and golden girdle.
Anon the monarch had a patent drawn,
Like Paradise—all praise—investing Sám
With Mai of Hind, Danbar, Kábulistán,
All from the Indus to the sea of Chín,
Drawn strictly in accord to precedent.
The patent written and the gifts prepared,
They ordered out the horses for that chief
Of paladins, who rising spake and said:—
“O chosen lord of justice and of right!
Know that between the Moon and Fish no Sháh
Like thee e'er wore the crown; thy goodness, prudence,
Beneficence, and rede rejoice the age.
In thine eyes all the world's wealth is despised:
May men remember no one's name but thine.”
He then advanced and kissed the throne.
They bound
The kettledrums upon the elephants
And started for Zábulistán. The towns
And villages turned out to gaze. When Sám
Approached Nímrúz 'twas bruited that the prince—
The lustre of the world—had come with presents,
A crown of gold, grant, patent, and gold girdle.
Sístán was decked throughout like Paradise;
Its bricks were gold and all its soil pure musk.
They flung about dínárs, musk, drachms, and saffron,
And made a holiday for all alike.
The aspiring chiefs from all sides went to Sám,
And said: “May this youth's steps prove fortunate
For thee, blithe-hearted, famous paladin!”
And as they blessed him showered gems o'er Zál.
For each man worthy was a gift prepared,
A robe of honour suited to his station
As being eminent in rank or lore,
While emulation caused all hopes to soar.
Thereafter Sám set forth before his son
The various virtues that adorn a king,
Harangued them in set terms at large, and said:—
“Ye holy archimages, wise of heart!
Our monarch in his wisdom ordereth
That I should march upon Mázandarán
Against the Kargasárs.253 I take with me
A mighty host; my son—mine own heart's blood
And partner of my life—abideth here.
I in the days of youth and arrogance
Pronounced a monstrous sentence on the boy.
God gave to me a son: I cast him out
In ignorance, not wotting of his worth.
Him the Símurgh, that noble bird, bare off,
Him too the Maker passed not by in scorn.
What I despised was precious to the fowl,
Which reared him till he seemed a lofty cypress,
And when the time for pardon came the Lord
Of all the world—God—gave him back to me.
Regard him as my representative,
As mine own self committed to your charge;
I leave to you to teach him what is good
And kindle every virtue in his breast.
Hold him in honour, give him sound advice,
Impart good principles and lofty aims,
For as the Sháh commandeth I depart
With other chiefs against our enemies.”
He turned to Zál and said: “Be peaceful, just,
And liberal, hold Zábulistán as home
And all things there as subject to thy will.
Be thine to make the home more beautiful
And friends more happy. Of my treasure-hoards
I leave the key with thee, thy gain is weal,
Thy loss is woe to me. In feast and fight
Do whatsoe'er thy bright soul holdeth good.”
Zál answered: “Can I live on here? If one
And I have cause to wail. Put me not further
Than ever from thee now that peace hath come.
While I was neath the talons of the bird,
Sucked blood and fared in dust, dwelt in a nest
And had a fowl for friend, I was esteemed
A fowl myself; but she that fostered me
Is far away. Such is fate's fostering!
I have no portion of the rose but thorns
And must submit.”
Sám answered: “Be at ease.
Let thy heart rest; command whate'er thou wilt.
The astrologers declare a gracious purpose
Concerning thee—that here shall be thy home
With host and crown. We cannot thwart heaven's will;
Thy portion is to spread around thee love.
Now gather to thee cavaliers and sages,
Delight in men of wisdom, list and learn
From them, be instant both in feast and bounty,
And instant too in justice and all knowledge.”
He ceased. The din of tymbals rose, earth turned
To iron and the air to ebony;
The Indian bells and gongs clanged at the portal
With troops equipped and eager. For two stages
Zál went to see his father lead the host.
His sire then clasped him closely. Rose wild wailing;
Zál wept his heart's blood down his cheeks, but Sám
Bade him return and go with happy heart
Back to the throne and crown; yet Zál returned
In grief—a happy life without his father!
He sat upon the famous ivory throne,
He set the shining crown upon his head,
He took the armlet and the oxhead mace,
The golden necklace and the golden girdle,
And called the archmages out of every province
In quest of knowledge both of men and things.
Astrologers and men of sanctity,
Brave warriors and warlike cavaliers,
Were with him night and day and counselled him
In every matter, whether great or small.
He profited so much that thou hadst said:—
“He shineth as a star!” In policy
And understanding he had not a peer,
His horsemanship was famous with the great,
Folk thronged him in amazement at his beauty,
And whether near or distant used to think
The camphor locks of Zál as black as ink.
One day Zál set forth on a royal progress
To view Kábul, Dunbar, Margh, Mai and Ind.
At every stage he set him up a throne
And called for wine and harp and minstrelsy.
He lavished treasure and indulged in pleasure,
As is the fashion in this Wayside Inn,
And reached Kábul with gladness in his heart.
There was a certain monarch hight Mihráb,
A wealthy and successful potentate,
In stature like a noble cypress-tree,
With cheeks like springtide and with pheasant's tread;
He had a sage's heart, a ruler's brain,
A warrior's shoulders and archmage's sense.
Descended from Zahhák, he ruled Kábul,
But having not the power to fight with Sám
Paid yearly tribute. Hearing that Sám's son
Had come, he left Kábul at dawn with treasure,
With steeds caparisoned, slave-boys, dínárs,
Musk, rubies, spicery, brocade of gold,
Silks, beaver-skins, a royal jewelled crown
And golden torque with emerald ornaments.
He took the chiefs and army of Kábul
As escort. Tidings reached the son of Sám:—
“The stately chief is coming in his state.”
Zál went to meet and greet him courteously
With every honour due. In merry mood
They came together to the turquoise throne;
A table fit for paladins was spread
And all sat down with gladness to the feast.
There, while cup-bearers handed cups and wine,
Mihráb observed the son of Sám, on whom
He joyed to gaze, and whom he longed to serve.
“His mother is immortal!”
When Mihráb
Rose from the board, Zál marked his mien and limbs,
And said before the chiefs: “Who girdeth him
More gracefully? Who hath such mien and carriage?
Men would pronounce him matchless in the fight.”
One of the noble chieftains said to Zál:—
“He hath a daughter in his house whose face
Is fairer than the sun, like ivory
From head to foot, with cheeks like Paradise,
And as a teak in height. Two musky ringlets
Fall o'er her silvern neck, the ends of them
Would serve for ankle-rings. Her cheeks are like
Pomegranate-blossoms, she hath cherry lips,
Her silvern breasts bear two pomegranate-grains,
Her eyes are twin narcissi in a garden,
Their lashes blackness rapt from raven's plumes,
Her brows are like two bows made at Taráz,
Whipped with the purest musk. If thou wouldst seek
A moon, there is her face; if thou wouldst scent
The musk, there is her hair. From head to foot
She is as Paradise—all music, charm,
And beauty.”
This raised tumult in the heart
Of Zál, and rest and reason fled from him;
He thought: “There is no doubt that this fair maid
Is like the sun and moon, for since the sire
Is comely still, how fair the child must be!”
Concerned for her whom he had never seen,
But when the sun's rays struck the mountain-tops
And made the world white crystal he gave audience,
And warriors with their golden scabbards came
To grace the portal of the paladin.
As these great men were calling for their steeds,
Mihráb, the ruler of Kábul, approached
The tent of Zál, the ruler of Zábul.
When he arrived the word was: “Clear the way.”
Fresh in his beauty as a laden fruit-tree
He came to Zál, who welcomed him with joy,
Gave him the chiefest room and said: “Request
Whate'er thou wilt—throne, signet, sword or crown.”
Mihráb replied: “Exalted, conquering king,
Whose word is law! But one desire have I,
And that an easy one for thee to grant—
That thou be pleased to visit me and make
My soul bright as the sun.”
Zál said: “Not so:
Thy palace is not one that I may visit,
For Sám would not approve, nor would the Sháh,
Of us for drinking wine and getting drunk
With idol-worshippers. Save this request
We grant thee all and joy to see thy face.”
On hearing this Mihráb did reverence,
But in his heart called Zál an infidel,
Then strode forth blessing much the son of Sám,
Who as he went praised him as he deserved.
For all had thought him an outlandish dív,
And since his Faith and manners were not theirs
Refrained from praising him; but when Zál spake
His admiration with such warmth, the courtiers
Began to praise him too, his mien, his stature,
His polished manners, tact and courtesy,
While as for Zál his heart went clean distraught,
His wisdom fled afar and love was lord.
An Arab chief once said in this regard:—
“A horse shall while I live my comrade be,
The vault of circling heaven shall shelter me;
I want no bride to make me delicate,
And cause the wise to mock at mine estate.”
Zál, who was stricken to the heart by care,
Kept brooding o'er the matter, sorely pained
For fear lest scandal might result and dim
His glory. Thus heaven oft revolved above,
And all the while his heart was full of love.
It came to pass that at the dawn one day
Mihráb walked stately from the audience-chamber,
And going toward his women's bower beheld
Two Suns within the hall; one was Rúdába,
The fair of face, the other was Síndukht,
The prudent and devoted; both were decked
Like garths in spring—all colour, scent, and grace.
He gazed upon Rúdába wonderingly,
Invoking blessings on her. In his eyes
Encrowned with ambergris, decked with brocade
And gems—a very Paradise of wealth!
Síndukht, whose smiles displayed her pearly teeth,
Between her jujube lips asked of Mihráb:—
“How did thy visit prosper? May the hand
Of ill be far from thee! What is he like—
Sám's hoary son? What is he suited for—
A nest or throne? Doth he behave as man,
And walk in chieftains' steps?”
Mihráb replied:—
“O fair-faced Cypress with the silvern breast!
Of all the warrior-paladins of earth
Not one can tread his steps; there is no portrait
Inside our halls with such a bridle-hand,
Or such another cavalier on horseback.
He is in heart a lion and in strength
An elephant: his hands are like the Nile.
When he is on the throne he scattereth gold,
When he is in the fray he scattereth heads.
His cheek is ruddy as the cercis-bloom:
Shrewd, young in years and fortune too is he,
In battle like the baleful crocodile,
On horseback like a dragon with sharp claws.
He layeth in the fight the dust with blood
And brandisheth his falchion of blue-steel.
He hath this one defect—his hair is white;
Fault-finders find in him no other fault;
Yet this white hair of his becometh him,
And thou wouldst say: ‘He fascinateth hearts.’”
On hearing this Rúdába blushed, with cheeks
Red as pomegranate-blossoms, while her heart
Became fulfilled with fire for love of Zál:
She could not eat or rest in peace; a change
Came in her disposition and demeanour,
For passion had usurped the place of wisdom.
All talk of men when there are women by;
The heart of woman is the Dív's abode,
If thou suggestest she will find the road.”
Rúdába had five Turkman waiting-maids,
Five faithful slaves, all girls of prudent minds;
To them she said: “I have a secret for you,
Since all of you are in my confidence,
Attend upon me, and dispel my cares;
Know then, all five of you, and understand,
And luck go with you all your years, that I—
I am in love, and like a raging sea
Whose billows surge to heaven! Mine ardent heart
Is full of love for Zál, and in my sleep
I cannot tear my thoughts from him. His love
Possesseth me, heart, mind, and wits; I muse
Upon his features day and night; and now
Means must be found to free me from my woe.
None knoweth of my secret but yourselves,
For ye are good and love me.”
Then the slaves
Thought in amaze: “The princess doth amiss!”
Rose at her like so many Ahrimans
And said: “O crown of ladies in the world!
O daughter eminent among the mighty,
Admired from Hindústán to Chín, and like
A shining signet in the women's bower!
No cypress in the garden equalleth
Thy height; thy cheeks outshine the Pleiades.
Thy portrait hath been sent out to Kannúj,
To Mai, and to the monarch of the West.
Hath modesty departed from thine eyes
And all consideration for thy sire
That thou shouldst long to clasp upon thy bosom
One whose own father hath rejected him—
A spectacle for all the folk? No mother
Excepting his hath borne an agèd babe.
Such offspring is ignoble. Strange indeed
For two such coral lips and musky hair
To seek a dotard! Why, all folk love thee;
Thy portrait is in all their palaces;
Thy stature, face, and hair are such that Sol
Would come from his fourth heaven to be thy spouse!”
Rúdába heard, her heart flared up like fire
Before a blast of air. She shrieked at them,
With frowns that shut her eyes, exclaiming: “Bah!
Ye strive in vain: it booteth not to hear.
If to some star I lost my heart, could I
Find any satisfaction in the moon?
Clay-eaters do not gaze upon the rose
Although the rose is better than the clay.
If vinegar will cure a body's liver,
Then honey will but make the anguish worse.
I want not Cæsar or Faghfúr of Chín,
Or any of the princelings of Írán:
Zál, son of Sám, is tall enough for me
And lion-like in shoulder, neck, and arm;
For whether people call him old or young
To me he giveth peace of soul and mind.
Talk not of other men, be his my heart,
Bit as it is by love of one whom I
Have never seen! It chooseth by report.
I do not love his face and hair but him;
'Tis for his merits that I seek his love.”
The slaves, on hearing her distracted voice,
And having learned her secret, cried: “Thy slaves
Command us! Naught but good will come of it.”
One said: “O Cypress-stem! let none else know.
A hundred thousand of us for thy life!
May all Creation's wisdom be thine aid!
Should there be need to study grammarye,
And stitch up eyes with artifice and spell,
Then will we fly like an enchanter's bird,
Or run along like deer to give thee aid,
So we may bring this king to thee our Moon,
And lay him at thy feet.”
Rúdába smiled,
Turned safflower cheeks toward the slave and said:—
“If thou canst compass this thou wilt have planted
A tall tree bearing rubies day by day
Which wisdom in its breast will bear away.”
The slaves arose and went, remediless
Themselves they sought a remedy for her.
So donning raiment of brocade of Rúm,
And twisting roses in their hair, they went,
The five of them, toward the river-side,
Like jocund spring—all colour and perfume.
'Twas Farwardín, the first month of the year,
And Zál's encampment was beside the stream;
The damsels were upon the farther bank.
Their talk was all of Zál. They gathered roses
Along the river-side. Their cheeks were like
A rosary, and roses filled their laps;
But still they gathered roaming here and there.
When they came opposite the royal tent
Zál, spying them from his high throne, inquired:—
“Who are these flower-worshippers?”
One said:—
“The Beauty of Kábulistán hath sent
Forth from the palace of bright-souled Mihráb
Her waiting-maidens to the rosary.”
Zál's heart beat fast, and being love-distraught
He walked attended by a single slave
Beside the stream. Upon the further bank
He saw the girls, drew himself up and bade
The Turkman slave-boy bring the bow; then looked
For game and lighted on a water-fowl.
The ruddy Turkman slave-boy strung the bow
And laid it in the paladin's left hand,
Who flushed the fowl and shot it as it rose.
Blood dyed the water. Zál said: “Go across
And fetch yon crippled bird.”
The gallant Turkman
Crossed in a boat. The slave-girls questioned him
About the paladin: “This lion-limbed
And elephantine-bodied warrior—
Who is he? Of what people is he king?
What foe could counter him? We never saw
A finer cavalier or better shot.”
The pretty slave-boy bit his lip and said:—
“Speak not so of the king. The son of Sám
Is monarch of Nímrúz, and other kings
Call him ‘Dastán.’ The sky revolveth not
O'er cavalier like him, nor will time see
His peer.”
The damsels laughed and answered thus
The moon-faced boy: “Say not such things because
Who is a whole head taller than thy king,
A teak in stature, ivory in hue,
Crowned with a crown of musk, a thing divine.
Her eyes are pensive and her eyebrows arched;
Their column is a silvern reed. Her mouth
Is narrow as the heart of one forlorn,
Her tresses' ends are coiled like ankle-rings,
Her witching eyes are full of dreamy light,
Her cheeks are tulip-like in hue, her locks
Like musk; her soul is breathing through her lips.
A matchless Moon is she! We from Kábul
Approach the monarch of Zábul in state,
And 'tis our policy to introduce
Our lady's ruby lips to those of Zál,
Which is but well and seemly, for she is
Of equal rank.”
On hearing this the slave-boy
Flushed ruby-like. “The Sun should wed the Moon,”
He said. “Whene'er the world would make a match
The hearts of all concerned find room for love,
And when the world would cause a severance
It parteth mate from mate without a word.
Love's bond is hidden but its rupture seen,
And both are common. Still the bachelor
Enjoyeth peace at home, and since he hath
No daughter, will not hear reproachful words.
Once said the male hawk to his brooding mate:—
‘If hen-birds only from these eggs thou bring
Thou makest of the sire a sexless thing.’”
Zál asked: “What was it that they said to thee
To make thee laugh and show thy silvern teeth?”
He told the paladin, whose heart grew young
With joy. He bade the moon-faced youth: “Return
And say thus to yon damsels: ‘Stay awhile
Among the roses; ye perchance may take
Some gems as well as blossoms from the garden,
So go not till ye hear from me.’”
He took
Gold, jewelry, and drachms, with five rich pieces
Of gold brocade and bade his slaves: “Convey them
To yonder girls, tell none and be not seen.”
They took the treasures with an ardent message
And gave them to the damsels in Zál's name.
Then said one damsel to the moon-faced page:—
“A matter never can be kept concealed
Unless it be confined to only two;
Three are no casket, four are all the world.
So say to him, shrewd, trusty boy: ‘If thou
Hast secret things to say tell us in person.’”
Rúdába's damsels said to one another:—
“The Lion hath been taken in the toils.
The wishes of Rúdába and of Zál
Have been fulfilled, and matters promise well.”
The black-eyed youth, who brought the monarch's
gifts
And acted for him, went and told his chief
In secret what those charming damsels said.
Drew near and did obeisance. He inquired
About that Cypress-stem, her mien and looks,
Her speech, her wisdom, and her rede, to see
If she were worthy of him. “Speak,” he said,
“Without attempting to prevaricate.
If ye speak truth it will advantage you,
But if I think that ye impose upon me
An elephant shall trample you to death.”
With cheeks that had become like sandarac
The slave-girls kissed the ground before the chief,
And one of them—the youngest of the troop,
A girl of tenderness and ready speech,
Spake thus to Zál: “Among the mighty none
Hath e'er been born of woman in this world
Who could compare with Sám in looks and stature,
In purity, in courage, sense, and knowledge;
Or yet with thee, thou valiant cavalier,
Of lofty bearing and of lion-limbs!
Or with Rúdába in her loveliness,
A silvern Cypress, coloured and perfumed,
Compact from head to foot of rose and jasmine,
While over it Canopus of Yaman
Is shining. One would say: ‘Her face distilleth
Wine, and her locks are scents.’ Insidious lassos
Fall from her head, that cupola of silver,
O'er cheeks of roses to the very ground.
Her head is all a-twine with ambergris
And musk, her person all a-shine with jewels.
Her locks and ringlets are like musky mail
Where ‘there is link on link’ as one might say.
Thou wilt not see in Chín so fair an Idol:
The moon and Pleiades bow down to her.”
The chief on fire rejoined in sugared tones:—
I love her, heart and soul, and long to see
Her face.”
She answered: “We, if thou shalt bid us,
Will haste back to the palace of our Cypress,
And then beguile her, telling all we can
About the chief of paladins, his prudence,
His looks, his converse, and his ardent soul,
And 'tis an honest work. We will ensnare
Her musky head and bring her lips to Zál's.
The paladin, a lasso in his hand,
May haply stroll toward our stately home
And fling the noose around a pinnacle.
The Lion will rejoice to hunt the Lamb.
Then gaze thy fill on her. Our talk shall be
The earnest of far more felicity.”
* i.e. Book of counsels.
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